


I Wanna Be Yours

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Christmas Fluff, Dean and Kids, Destiel Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Flustered Dean, Homophobia, Implied Blow Job, M/M, Shy Castiel, Shy Dean, Sirens, a tiny tiny bit of smut, cas with kids, demons mess, destiel college au, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel and Dean meet for the first time in the new dorm room they'll have to share, they're sure they are screwed for the year. Despite Cas' doubts, he finds in Dean a good friend, and eventually, something more. There was always something mysterious about Dean, though, which Cas figured he'll never discover...<br/>It all goes wrong the night Dean's brother shows up and Dean walks off with him, never to come back.<br/>Until one night, Cas wakes up with a knife against his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long, Long Way From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Well then, here we are. I don't know if this thing is worth reading at all, I'll leave that for you to decide. I've been working on it for a long, long time, though, and I'd like to make a few quick thanks.
> 
> First and most important, to [Noga](http://hassart.deviantart.com/), who is unbelievably patient toward my crap and honestly the best friend I could ask for. To [Lin](https://instagram.com/fallingforfandoms_/), who helped me with making this shit be a bit more presentable, and supported me throughout the last weeks; and to Kaylee ([ig](https://instagram.com/kayleeberry1997/)\[ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CopaceticBrainBox)) who also helped me with grammar and phrasing. If this story is a pickle, it would be an unwashed cucumber without you guys. Thank you. 

_"I wanna be your vacuum cleaner,_  
_Breathing in your dust_  
_I wanna be your Ford Cortina,_  
_I won't ever rust_  
_I just wanna be yours,_  
_I just wanna be yours"_

_\- Arctic Monkeys,[ I wanna Be Yours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOJgpY-LEv8)_

 

* * *

 

 

It was a hot day, one of many to come. I wasn’t used to the southern heat, and I was sweating mildly in my light blue T-shirt.

I walked past the row of doors and looked for the sign that said “4”. It didn’t take long. The door was half-open, a subtle gust of cold air drifting through it into the hot afternoon.

I knocked and came in reluctantly, laying my heavy bag on the floor.

“Hello?” I called into the empty-looking dorm room.

There were only two beds. On the one closest to the door was a bag, and a few clothes were scattered on the floor around it. Put against the wall on the right side of the room was a small couch with a low coffee table standing in front of it.

I was about to call out again when a freckled face underneath light brown hairs popped out of the bathroom, a towel and a toothbrush in his hand.

“Hello,” the guy answered carefully, face expectant, as if he weren’t sure what I was doing here.

“I- um… I’m your roommate.” I looked down at the tag of the key that rested in my hand. It read 'four'. “I think.”

“Oh. Come in,” he said and crossed the room to shake my hand. We looked each other over shortly, trying to evaluate how much we were screwed for the rest of the year.

The guy’s posture was confident. His eyes were friendly but held somewhat of a tense spark, as if he still weren’t completely convinced he should be trusting my word. Around his neck rested an amulet connected to a black string, colored bronze in the afternoon light. 

“Winchester, Dean,” he introduced himself.

“I’m Castiel Shurley.”

“Castiel?” his eyebrows rose with interest. “Is that a biblical name?”

“Sort of.”

Dean smirked. “What’s your father’s name, Moses?”

My forehead creased. “No, actually, his name is Chuck.”

There was a short, somewhat uncomfortable pause.

“Never mind,” Dean huffed out after a moment, a strange expression on his face. He squinted at me for another minute, and then, when I didn't say anything, turned away slowly. I bent over to grab the straps of my bag. 

“Okay… I’mma go take a shower, if you don’t mind," he called carelessly after him, and I froze with my hand reached out halfway down to my bag. 

“Why would I mind?” I blurted, my head tilted to one side. My mind went through various versions of interpretation to his words, some embarrassingly unsavory, and it took me a moment to realize he was using an expression.

Dean Winchester looked at me, lifting his eyebrows, then turned slowly to the bathroom without any response.

“Weird dude,” he mumbled to himself on his way.

"Rude," I muttered when he closed the door. I picked up my bag and walked toward the vacant bed, dropping the bag on it.

I didn’t have a lot to unpack, and I was done in no time. I sat down on the side of my bed and took my shoes off. It was a large bed for one person, which was nice, close in size to what I had back home. I settled on it, grabbing one of my books and starting to read, slowly sinking into the plot.

At some point, a couple of girls came to look for Dean while he was showering. From the way they talked about him, rattling quietly and giggling, I figured he was already quite popular around here. No wonder; he had the personality.

The girls have already left when Dean came out of the shower, a towel tied to his hips. I filled him in, putting my book away and spreading my limbs across the bed tiredly. It was surprisingly comfortable, the kind of beds you can sink into, and my body settled into it smoothly.

“A couple of girls? Who?” Dean asked from the bathroom as he begun brushing his teeth.

“I think the short one was called Cassie… there was a Lisa, and, I don’t know - Starla?” I sat up and slid my legs under the blanket, socks on. When I was a kid, Gabriel would say it made you have odd dreams. He did it, so I did it. At some point, it became a habit I couldn’t get rid of.

“Oh.”

Dean stepped out of the bathroom and stood by the window next to my bed, toothbrush stuck in his mouth.

“This is going to be fun,” he smiled widely while brushing his teeth, watching the lawn and the campus out the window.

“This is going to be horrible,” I sighed and turned to set the alarm clock on my phone.

Dean looked at me. “You’re a nerd,” he blurted and kept brushing his teeth.

I remembered my thoughts from earlier about being screwed and grimaced; of course I had to be stuck with the biggest jerk in college as my roommate. Not like that was the first time something like this happened. 

I wasn’t going to give up just yet, though, I promised myself. I will give him a chance, and if Dean was going to be a jerk - then he could be a jerk on his own.

I rolled over to the other side of my bed, pulling the blanket over my head to dim the light.

“Good night,” I murmured, out of habit, and swallowed the little lump in my throat that choked _homesick._ I thought about dad sitting alone at home right now, trying to write, probably drunk to some measure. I didn’t like the feeling of being away from home; it was like a vacuous hole inside my chest, surprisingly palpable.

“G’night, Castiel,” I heard Dean’s blurred voice through the blanket.

Even more than I was surprised he heard me, I was surprised that he _answered_ me, but then he continued and said, “did I pronounce it right? _Cas-ti-el?_ ”

For a few seconds I did nothing but lie under the blanket silently. Then I tucked my head out of the blanket and looked at him.

“Yes, you did fine.”

 

I woke up the next day to the sound of a blurry, rhythmic humming. My arm, spread across the bed, burned from the heat of direct sunrays. I pulled it back and rolled over to the other side of the bed, opening my eyes and squinting at the bright light coming out of the window and the sunlight shining directly into my eyes. I groaned and rolled back to the part of the bed that was out of the range of the sunlight, almost falling off the bed as I turned. The humming stopped and I heard a laugh.

I raised my head slowly and sat up, still caught in sleep. My new roommate, Dean, was pacing around the room with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth, looking at me with amusement. It appeared that I looked funny to him, but I was too drowsy to care. I let out a grumble and slid out of my bed, my motions slow and tired.

“Not a morning person?” Dean guessed, watching my heavy movements with a smile. His voice was blurred by the toothpaste his mouth was filled with.

I didn’t mean to stare at him, but his friendly tone caught me by surprise.

“Not a night person, either,” I admitted cautiously and walked toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Not sure I’m even a person,” I tried to joke as I passed by him. It was lousy - I had a terrible sense of humor - but Dean laughed anyway. I'd thought I was starting to comprehend the nature of his behavior toward me, but now I realized I may have rushed to judge him. He appeared to try to be friendly, for all I could tell.

I wondered whether all the students would be nice like Dean, but decided he was probably an exception. No way it was going to be that easy for me.

Classes were interesting, though tiring. A couple of my friends from high school took the same courses I was taking, but I didn’t see Dean on any of the lectures.

When I got back to my dorm room that afternoon I settled on my bed and started studying, planning to finish what I needed to as soon as possible so I would be free to do what I want, but after a while I couldn’t concentrate, and I reached for my bag and dug inside until I found one of my books. I opened it and concentrated on the flowing words, completely sinking in them. 

After some time, though, I got distracted from reading too. My eyes rose from the line I was reading for a few times now and fell on Dean, who was untying his earphones by his bed.           

“When did you get in?” I asked, confused, as I didn’t remember the door opening.

He turned around and looked at me with an amused wonder, like I was acting foolishly.

“Just now.” He turned back and kept on untying the wire. I looked down at my book, trying to focus again.

 I tried to read and do my assignments alternately for a couple of hours, but around the end of the afternoon I gave up. I was staring desperately into the air now with books and papers scattered on the bed around me, letting my mind wonder wherever it wished.

Eventually my eyes caught Dean’s figure again, sitting on his bed with his legs spread straight on it. His earphones were stuck in his ears and connected to a device, and by his side on the bed was a box filled with what looked like a lot of CDs. He was holding a few pages of paper in his one hand. Apparently, I stared -because after a while he turned to look at me.

“What?” he asked and pulled the earphones out of his ears.

“Nothing,” I mumbled and looked away, but after a moment my stare wandered back to him.

“Is… is that a Discman?” I asked, pointing at the device that lay next to him. He looked down.

“Yeah,” he said and looked back up. “Why?”

“Are they still selling those?”

“No.” He shrugged, a bit abashedly. “It was my dad’s.”

“Oh.” I grabbed my book from the bed and put it on the nightstand. “Why aren’t you… upgrading?”

“I like it,” he shrugged again, cheery this time. “And I have a lot of CDs anyway. I’m used to spending a lot of time in the car.”

He got back to fiddling with his pages then, and I went to take a shower.

Cleaned up, I sat on my bed and was just about to continue with studying when Dean shoved his pages aside and got up, checking the hour.

“Hey,” he said and stood by my bed. “I’mma go grab a bite. Haven’t had a hamburger in a week or so.”

I looked at him, measuring his figure, and thought to myself he didn’t look like a person for whom a week seemed like a lot of time not to have a hamburger.

“You wanna join?”

I stared at him for a long second, like I did this morning.

“I was just going to keep studying,” I noted blankly.

“It won’t take much time,” he promised, his eyebrows rising. “But you don’t have to, y’know, you can stay here with this boring…” he leaned over my bed to look at my study books. “Shakespeare stuff.”

I examined his expression, trying to figure out his motive.

“It’s just a dinner break, I’m not gonna lead you to the woods and murder you or s’mthing,” he promised at my suspicious look. 

“Fine, then,” I decided and stood up, grabbing my wallet and snatching a shirt from the end of my bed. Grumbling a complaint about the heat, I put on my shirt and stuck my feet into my shoes, continuing witlessly. “But I’m no damsel in distress. I could’ve protected myself, if you would attack me in the woods.”

“You have a terrible sense of humor,” he said with a snort and closed the door behind us.

I followed Dean to the street, walking quietly for a few minutes until we entered a street full of restaurants and cafes.

“I don’t know this place,” I noted. It was nice, though, I guessed. There were some trees by the buildings, and fancy seats outside. Dean turned to look at me.

“Really?” he asked while walking backwards into the street slowly, careful not to walk into someone. “Everyone goes here.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, since I got here yesterday.”

I looked at him amusedly while he bumped into a tree and dishonorably turned around to walk beside me.

“Well, I've been here a coupla times. I’ve got connections.” He smiled mysteriously. “Where d’you wanna eat?”

I looked around at the coffee shops. “I like Starbucks,” I suggested. “But they don’t have any hamburgers.”

“It’s ‘aight,” he shrugged and crossed the road towards the building. I followed him, eyebrows rising.

We had a seat at a table by the entrance. Dean ordered pie and coffee. I chose hot chocolate, though it wasn’t cold outside at all.

It was weird.

“So you have a lot of friends around here, huh?” I said when our orders arrived.

“I spent my last couple of months of high school at the same town, so I got to make some friends,” he said casually, leaning back in his seat and looking at my face. His hand was fiddling with a little piece of paper. I looked at him blankly, waiting for him to smile or something.

“I think I missed something,” I admitted when he didn’t.

“We move a lot,” he said, face slightly upset now. “It’s a family thing. Never mind.”

“How are you going to stay here, then?” I asked.

“I decided to rebel and go to college,” he chuckled.

“The kids of today,” I murmured, and he smiled.

“Dean… can I ask you something?” I asked as he took a bite of his blueberry pie.

“Sure.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

He swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Well, we’re not really each other’s type. I’ve learned a few things from high school, and people don’t change when they get to college.”

“Look, dude, I never got to have friends until last year. I’m not gonna be a dick to someone I could be friends with just because of what he chooses to do with his time, or whatever you’re being an asshole about these days.”

“Oh.” I ducked my head and sipped of my hot chocolate abashedly, feeling bad about misjudging him.

"And hey, what do you mean 'we're not each other's type'? You mean you wouldn't date me?" He smirked, and I rolled my eyes. 

 _If you wouldn't be as straight as your jawline, then maybe I would,_ I thought to myself with a dry smile. 

The next afternoon found me and Dean at the same condition - studying, him with earphones tucked in his ears - only I was sitting on the deep turquoise, fluffy couch. 

I murmured my reading material to myself as I read, and at some point of the night Dean’s voice cut my quiet buzz.

“Good thing music helps me concentrate, ‘cause I wouldn’t be able to with you talking to yourself all day.”

I raised my head.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said wittily.

“That’s ‘aight,” he said and lifted his Discman to show me he didn’t mind. “I still have trouble concentrating, though.”

“I do too, sometimes. When I’m nervous,” I replied.

“I was thinking…” Dean paused and looked down at his hand fiddling with a pen. “Well… I picked up a few tricks on how to concentrate on reading in high school, and usually the thing that helped me the most was when… someone read to me out loud.”

I stared at him, and he stared back.

“You want me to help you with your studying?” Unintentionally, my question came out slightly doubtful.

“Just a little, y’know. If-if you don’t mind.”

“Um… sure.” I straightened my legs, which rested folded on the couch, and jumped up to sit on the side of his bed.

I took the papers from his extended hand, but my eyes drifted towards his CDs box.

“Is that…” I started hesitantly, my hand reached out halfway towards the box.

“Huh?” he asked and grabbed the box, putting it on his knees, closer to me.

“Seen anything you like?” he asked with a smile.

I pulled a Led Zeppelin album out of the box and turned it over, glancing at the track list.

“I like them,” I said. It was a bit of an understatement, but I left it at that.

“Really?” Dean asked with surprise. “Doesn’t really look like your style.”

“It isn’t,” I admitted and put the CD back inside the box. “But my big brother, Michael, used to love them. And I was a very easily-influenced six year old.

Dean snorted loudly. “You listen to Led Zeppelin since you were six?”

I shrugged and fluttered across the rest of the CDs with my fingers. I recognized a few more Led Zeppelin albums, but most of the CDs in the box I recognized only by the name of the band, if I did at all. There were a few AC/DC albums, Guns N’ Roses, Queen, Aerosmith, Metallica…

“How many do you have?”

“Like, thirty? I lost count. I have cassettes too.”

“Wow.” I looked down at Dean’s papers again. “Well, better start.”

Dean lay back on the bed and closed his eyes as I started reading. When his breathing started stabilizing I worried he was falling asleep, but when I paused his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me.

“Are you sick of it? That’s alright.”

“No, no. Does it help?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his hair mussing where it rubbed against the sheets.

I continued reading, a little incredulous. I would never manage to stay awake, let alone stay concentrated, if someone read to me like that while I was lying with my eyes closed. I had no idea how Dean managed to do it, but I admired him for it.

And so it happened that I helped Dean with his assignments every afternoon, before the nights came and he would go out to do whatever the popular kids were doing, leaving me to read quietly in our room. If I got lucky, he’d offer me his Discman to listen to some of his albums while he was gone.

A couple of nights later Dean had already tried to drag me to a party.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” he encouraged, putting on his high boots and coming to stand beside my bed.

“Parties aren’t fun,” I muttered. I had no idea why he even bothered trying to convince me.

“Why do you even want me to come?”

“You need to get social so my friends won’t know the truth about me,” he smiled suggestively. “Having a total nerd of a roommate.” He placed his hands in the air dramatically. “My darkest secret. All you did since you arrived here was _studying._ ”

“ _I’m_ a nerd? Look at you, you’re a complete dork,” I claimed as my eyes dropped back to my book.

It’s not like I wanted to stay in and study all night, but I didn’t like socializing. I barely got out of my bedroom in high school, and my _“people skills”_ were _“rusty”_.  At this point, I’d genuinely rather stay in than meet any of Dean’s popular friends. Or anyone at all, for that mattered.

“Whatever. Just come when you get too lonely then.”

“I’m not lonely,” I said with a huff as he stepped out the door; but after a while I got bored. Sure _someone_ I knew had to be there, right? And in the worst case, I assured myself, I could always come back here. I closed my book and stood up.

The party was outside, on a large lot of lawn. I felt awkward at first, but the darkness and the density of the crowd made me unnoticeable enough to feel comfortable.

I walked through the crowd, looking for Dean. The first person I recognized, though, was Hannah.

She waved at me and I walked past a group of students and stood beside her.

“What’s up?” she smiled and closed the distance between us with a hug, which I returned awkwardly.

“What are you doing here? You hate parties!” she grinned and grabbed my hand, not waiting for an answer.

“Come on, we have liquor!” she dragged me into the crowd. After we got beers, she pulled me toward a ginger girl that I recognized from biology class in high school - Anna Milton.

“Hannah!” she smiled and they hugged. “Castiel, hey,” Anna said. “This is, uh, Dean Winchester.” She flushed a little and gestured at Dean, who stood beside her.

“Thought you didn’t have friends,” Dean taunted me with a smile.

“We've already met,” I explained to the girls, ignoring Dean, as they watched us with confusion.

“Where do you three know each other from?” Dean asked, and I leaned a little closer to hear him.

“High school,” I said shortly.

“Great! So we all know each other,” Dean grinned and raised his beer to his lips. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. He often was, but sometimes he wasn’t, which I found confusing.

“Which school did you go to?” Hannah asked Dean. “I don’t think I saw you around.”

“Oh, somewhere out of town,” Dean said, evading her question. He glanced at me for a fraction of a second.

I wondered what was that about.

Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but a loud voice from behind me cut her off.

“Hey, you.” I turned around to see a broad guy standing right in front of me. I didn’t know him, but his face suspiciously resembled a mongoose.

“ _Castiel._ What kind of name is this? Is that some kind of pasta?” His friends laughed behind him. _"Pastiel."_

“No, it’s not any sort of pasta,” I said with a small smile, amused by his confused look. Dean smiled beside me.

The mongoose guy looked at Dean, only now noticing him.

“Hey, Winchester,” he said and smiled slyly. “What are you doing with this loser?”

“Go bother someone else, Zach,” Dean said indifferently and took another sip of his beer.

“What happened? You got soft, hanging out with wusses?” The broad guy named Zach asked and laughed at his own joke.

“Hey, ass-face, chill out.”

Mongoose Zach  and his friends fell into silence, all staring at me. Then he snapped.

“Keep your bitch under control, would you, Winchester-“

Dean's face was blank and calm, not showing any hostile emotion as he stepped toward Zach. That made the punch that hit Zach's face much more surprising to me, not to talk about the one that followed. Dean stepped back, his fingers still a fist as he reclaimed his position between me and Anna. 

“That’s my roommate, you idiot,” he said dryly. Zach groaned and tried to punch Dean back, but Dean lowered his head swiftly and avoided the blow.

Zach’s friends pulled him back, and he gave Dean a furious look before disappearing into the crowd. The few people who had turned to look at us turned away now.

“Is he your friend?” I asked hesitantly.

“Not anymore, I guess,” Dean answered, shaking the fingers of his right hand where he had punched Zach.

“People tend to get hostile when you punch them in the face.” Then he looked at me and shrugged.

Anna went away to look for one of her friends, and eventually Hannah left us too. When we left the party it was already quite late, and I was yawning uncontrollably.

“Hey, thanks for earlier,” I said as we entered our room and closed the door behind me. It was oddly quiet after the loud buzz I was deep inside in the last hours.

“Yeah, no problem,” Dean said absently and started stripping to put his pajamas on.

“I mean it.”

He looked at me.

“I mean, you punched your friend for me.”

“I punched a dick,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“I could’ve defended myself, though,” I noted casually and took my shoes off.

“Yeah, sure.”

I huffed grumpily, but let it go.

“What did he want from me anyway?” I grunted, not really expecting an answer, yet I got one.

“Don't mind Zach,” Dean said. “Picking on prettier guys was his hobby in high school. And remember what you said about people not changing?”

He left it at that.

“Yes, alright, sure,” I mumbled as he entered the bathroom, lifting my blanket to cuddle underneath it. I turned off my nightstand lamp, and long shadows stretched across the walls with the light coming from the bathroom. “Prettier guys.”


	2. Bigger Boys And Stolen Sweethearts

Dean was a good friend.

A teasing, annoying, unstoppably bugging one, but also a good one. I've continued helping him with his studies, and as the weeks have passed we gradually started tolerating each other.

Dean had a way about him, something that made him look constantly cautious. His shoulders would tense at random sounds from outside the room, he had impressive instincts and if someone he didn’t know knocked on our door he would look at them with a quirky suspicion, although I had no idea in what exactly he was suspecting.

Another thing was his fighting skills.

Ever since that party in the beginning of the year, when he'd see me or Dean walk from the lecture hall to our room on the afternoons, Zach would corner us and pick on us every few times in a week.

“Could he be on his period?” Dean would ask after an incident and I’d snort.

"That's offensive."

"Male period, then," Dean would shrug as he came up with the solution. "He bleeds testosterone."

"That definitely seems to be your problem," I'd say and he'd throw at me the first thing on his right.

The problem with Dean was, he was happy to get in a fight - probably because he always won. He’d see Zach and tease him until he’d get angry, and when Zach tried to hit him he’d avoid the blows with almost-professional moves and leave Zach with a nosebleed and shame. I didn’t know how to hit someone as directly and accurately as Dean could, but I was just as swift and agile and I could escape Zach easily while making up witty and less-witty comments about his face or his reaction speed.

I’ve asked Dean where he'd learned to fight like that, but he just said his father sent him to self-defense classes. I had a feeling there was something more to that, but I couldn’t make him talk, and so I let it go.

Despite being constantly alert and wary, Dean liked to go out. And his body must’ve got used to him drinking all the time, because in the couple of months I've known him I never saw him completely drunk, and he drank _a lot_.

“No plans?” I commented one night, when he lied down on his bed and started browsing his laptop.

“Well, it’s only seven,” he pointed out, checking his clock.

“So, yes plans,” I said, thinking about dinner. We usually grabbed something to eat by this time of the night - a pizza or Chinese, the sort of crap food Dean liked and I have grown to tolerate.

“Well, Jo is coming, if that’s what you mean. Now shut up and let me concentrate.” He went back to his computer.

I sighed and looked down at my books. I had to study, and I was procrastinating. I tried to read but it was already hard to concentrate, not to mention the knock on the door and then Dean letting Jo in and the sounds of their conversation.

I knew most of Dean’s friends pretty well by that stage, but Jo was my favorite. She was friendly and always tried to save me from Dean’s attempts to pull me into his friend-meetings and socializing.

“If you read any longer you’re gonna set your eyes on fire. C’mon, you have to start socializing. You’re ruining my reputation,” he would say. I was suspecting he was just bored with his girl friends talking endlessly and wanted me to save him. His argument was rather weak, though; as if I could somehow damage Dean’s social level.

“You’re ruining my grades,” I’d reply indifferently and keep studying.

“Let him be,” Jo would say in my favor and laugh. This time, though, she didn’t seem to be wanting to help me.

“Why’d you always hang around in your room with no shirts?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling at Dean, and reaching with her foot to nudge at my shoulder over the nightstand.

“Because it’s always hot in this goddamn room,” I heard Dean’s answer vaguely and read the line I was at again.

“Why, you enjoying the view?”

Jo laughed and I sighed and squinted at my article.

“It’s almost November,” Jo argued.

“I’m not cold,” Dean answered. “Cas, are you cold?”

“I’m not cold,” I mumbled without lifting my eyes of the book, desperately trying to concentrate and ignoring the fact that this was the first time someone ever called me that.

They kept talking but I stopped listening, pausing for only a second to wonder about that _Cas._

Jo went on her way around eleven p.m., and I was getting close to finishing my assignments. Dean lay down on my bed beside me and decided to be annoying.

“Are you ever gonna stop studying?” he asked and grabbed one of my books, checking its cover.

“Are you ever going to stop wearing plaid?” I responded absently, eyeing the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of his bed. He snorted and said, “You should see my brother. He’s much worse than me.”

“Okay,” I murmured and checked something on my phone.

“You aren’t even listening to me,” he complained.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I think you’re confusing me with your girlfriend, Dean.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. Now shut up and put that thing away." He pulled out a bottle of alcohol. I didn’t recognize the brand, but it didn’t look like a beer.

"That bottle ain’t gonna drink itself.” 

I sighed and put my books away. I had no idea how he even got it into college property. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to sleep,” I said and pushed his body with my leg until he was halfway on the floor, grunting.

He slid to the floor and then stood up and sat on the bed again. “C’mon, it’s only eleven! And except that, you don’t want me to finish this bottle alone. And believe me, I’m capable.”

I didn’t believe him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to take my chances.

“Fine,” I yawned. “But I’m warning you, I get drunk fast.”

He smiled triumphantly and opened the bottle.

“So what about you, eh?” Dean asked while pouring the liquor into two cups. "What’s your story?"

"Well, turning into a pumpkin is not my usual deal," I shrugged, and he rolled his eyes and suppressed a smile. 

“Whatever. I meant you never talk about yourself. I know you for more than a couple of months now, and all I know about you is that you have a drunk dad named Chuck and two friends called Hannah and Anna - you gotta admit that’s weird, man.” He leaned his back against the wall so that he was sitting beside me, our legs spread across the bed.

I swallowed a small gulp of my drink and snorted. “That’s a cold blooded lie. You know all my casual habits including all the odd places I leave my socks in. That’s more than some of my own siblings know about me. And anyway, I don’t know anything about you.” As I spoke realized that it wasn’t completely true. I did know that Dean had a brother named Sam who wore too much plaid and that he was sociable and friendly and restless and had good instincts… and that all the girls liked him but he never really liked them back, and that he grew on you pretty well, even though sometimes I wanted to stick a duct tape onto his mouth. And other, small things you get to know about a person when you live with them. He brushed his teeth for too long. He liked coffee. He preferred nighttime over daylight.

Dean gestured with his hands and lifted his eyebrows at me. “What do you wanna know?”

“Hmm.” I took another sip of my drink. “Well, I know nothing about your past. You're always all mysterious about that.” 

“There’s nothing _to_ know about my past,” he argued.

“There obviously is, since you have these unnaturally sharp instincts and you fight like a freaking ninja and you tense up every time someone walks past our door in the hallway. And you never talk about your childhood.”

Dean’s eyes became reluctant and he weighed his words carefully. His bare chest went up and down, again and again, and I was getting tired and started to feel the influence of the alcohol.

“It’s a family business,” he said eventually. “I can’t say much. It’s complicated, but long story short -my dad is kind of a deadbeat. I would usually take care of Sammy when we were kids...”He looked down and shook his drink gently. “God knows I could be a jerk sometimes. I still can.”

“Hmm.” I pondered his words for a moment, and then turned to face him.

“I don’t think you’re a jerk,” I said. His bright eyes looked at me from a few inches’ distance, and I fought to keep mine open. “You’re a good person.”

He looked deep into my eyes. Our breaths merged with one another. I thought we might have been having a moment, but if we were, I was possibly about to fall asleep in the middle of it.

“Thanks.”

After another moment he added, “tell me something.”

“What?” I asked, raising my cup. The burn of the alcohol down my throat woke me a little.

“What’s your family like?”

I creased my forehead at him. “They’re… family.”

“C’mon, I’ve never seen how’s being in a real family’s like. Pity me.” If my mind would’ve been less fuzzy, I’d probably wonder what he meant. In my current state, though, I just pursed my lips and said, “fine. But only if you fill up my cup.”

He snorted and grabbed the bottle. “Now, that’s the spirit, nerdy-boy. Just don’t puke, that would be hard to clean from the sheets.”

“’k.”

“You may begin,” he said when my cup was filled.

“Hmm… well, I have three brothers and a sister. I’m the youngest, which means I get beat up the most.”

He laughed.

I told him about our Christmases, the only time in the year we spent a whole few days together at the same place. I liked Christmas, although the atmosphere was inevitably tense whenever Michael and Luci were in the same room together.

“So your father is religious?” Dean asked when I finished talking.

It was past two a.m. and we were both mumbling almost unintelligibly at this point.

“No, no.”

“He called your brothers after archangels’ names, and your sister, Na-Ne-“

“Naomi.”

“Yeah, that - ‘n your name’s also weird as shit, y’know…” he gestured toward me but his hand fell sluggishly on the mattress. I was fighting to leave my eyes open.

“Well, don’ ask me,” I mumbled. “He mentions some angels in his books, but he sure isn’t religious.”

“Hmmf.” Dean’s eyes were closing and his lips parted, breath stabilizing. I watched him with heavy eyelids, poking his side.

“I’m awake!” he stammered suddenly and his eyes split open.

He looked at me and uttered a “harf!” and I raised my hand and pressed a finger to his nose.

“Boop,” I giggled.

He looked at my face, his face deadpan.

“You’re definitely a happy drunk,” he pointed at me. “’k, sh’probably… get up now.” He tried to sit up and fell right over me. His head fell and we lay there for a moment, with his forehead leaned on mine.

My mind cleared a little and my heartbeat accelerated. I could feel Dean’s breath mingling with mine.

“Dean…”

“Huh?”

“You’re… heavy.”

“Okay… I’m gonna… get off you now.” His head rose and then plunged on my shoulder.

“Thank you.”

There was a long pause. My eyelids fell slowly, and the room blackened gradually. 

“You’re welcome.” I suddenly felt his weight off me.

It didn’t take a lot of seconds to fall asleep.

 

The headache woke me up.

Or maybe it was the urge to pee. I couldn’t tell.

I sat up, too fast - the pounding in my head increased. I waited several seconds for the drums that danced in my head to ease and looked around me. Dean was sleeping in his bed, his limbs spread out in every direction.

I got out of bed slowly, careful not to stumble when the vertigo hit me, and entered the bathroom.

I looked into the mirror while I brushed my teeth; my hair was messy, and my cheeks were slightly flushed. I spat the toothpaste into the sink and washed my face.

I must’ve been noisy, because when I raised my head after swallowing a pill of painkillers I saw Dean’s reflection in the mirror.

“Hey.” His voice was rough and hoarse from sleep. “Can I…” he passed by me and reached for the sink to wash his face.

“What’s the time?” I tried to ask. My voice came out crooked. 

“Quite - early, really,” he yawned.

“So, you remember anything from last night?” he added casually and leaned on the bathroom’s doorpost, facing my figure which was walking back toward my bed.

“No,” I said, my tone as deadpan as possible. I turned to face the closet so he wouldn’t see my cheeks reddening. It  _was_ blurry, mostly, but I did remember a part of it - and not much of a family-friendly part.

For a long moment Dean stood somewhere behind me silently and I fiddled with my clothes. Eventually he said,

“Um, listen, man, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked and turned around.

“Y’know… last night.”

I pursed my lips and looked at him from across the room. We've only been living together for a couple of months. I've never imagined you could connect to someone so strongly when you’ve lived with them for that much of a short time; Dean became my best friend.

And…

Maybe he started being something else for me, too. Maybe I liked him a little more than I should have…

I wasn’t going to tell him.

“Look, Cas…”

My stomach turned upside down and knotted and whatnot; I really wasn’t used to this name. There was something so much personal about it.

“We had our… gay moment, or whatever, and it’s over, and it won’t happen again,” he promised, his shoulders straightening.

“It’s alright,” I muttered. As my eyes flitted across the room, they caught a dull shine on my bed.

I approached my bed and grabbed Dean’s amulet, which, embarrassingly, was placed right beside my pillow.

“You dropped this,” I noted indifferently as I handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He grabbed the black string dangling from my hand and slid it in place around his neck. “So… are we cool?”

“Yes,” I shortened and turned to change my clothes.

I got dressed and put my shoes on while Dean ate and did his other stuff. I headed out before Dean, as usual, because all of his classes started later than mine. Just like he'd said, our moment was over, and everyday routine took its place.

On my way to campus with a disposable cup of coffee, I met Anna. She joined my idle walking, rattling about things I was desperately trying to concentrate on as we walked together. The drumming in my head got weaker by now, but it still distracted me from her words. 

She spoke about her exams now, tugging at my arm whenever she got too excited or worried.

“Hey, you alright?” Anna asked somewhere in my mind. It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was supposed to respond, and by then, she already continued.

“You know Lisa, right?”

I raised my eyes to a pretty brunette on Anna’s left.

“Yes, yes,” I answered, trying to give the impression I noticed she joined us.

“Castiel, right?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at me. They kept going, fortunately leaving me room to only deliver simple answers like ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

The day passed slowly, idly, boring as usual. 

I finished all my classes and was heading back to my room with Anna, the dim afternoon sunlight shining right into my eyes. Anna talked about the date she was taking with her to the party tomorrow. We were almost by the dorms buildings when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Hey, _Cas._ ”

I halted, recognizing the voice, and turned around to see Zach standing a few feet behind us. Conveniently, as we were in a quieter section of the lot, no one beside the three of us was around.

“Oh, what did I do now?” I asked tiredly, bracing my limbs for a run. 

“Is that how your boyfriend calls you when you fuck him into the mattress at nights?”

I clenched my teeth, ignoring his pleasant-sounding suggestion, and stepped forward until we were almost within touching distance.

“What do you want?” I asked dryly. I didn’t like that name coming from anyone’s mouth who wasn’t Dean.

“I saw you this morning with Lisa,” he said. “Didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

“Ah, I thought I just had a boyfriend!” my lips parted involuntarily with a little grin. “I’m a real whore, aren’t I?”

“If you get close to her…”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m gonna make sure of that.”

With one swift movement, Zach’s palms were on my chest, pushing me backwards into the air.

Somewhere behind me, I heard Anna yelling. “Leave him alone, he didn’t do anything!”

A second away from falling backwards, I gripped his hand with a quick instinct, pulled myself into balance and lifted a foot to kick his chest. It wasn’t strong, but the centered thrust made him trip onto the floor.

I learned a couple of things from Dean.

Quickly enough, though, Zach was standing again. He hit my chest forcefully and as the air sucked out of my lungs, he took advantage of my faintness and punched my face.

I felt my knees hit the ground and a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I heard Anna’s voice somewhere close, saying something I couldn’t wrap my head around.

“Next time, stay away from what ain’t yours,” Zach said. I’d bet he thought he’d beat me, but I rose to my feet slowly and started limping toward him, obviously in pain. He watched me approach with a smirk, not even bothering to worry.

As soon as he was within reach, I straightened my back and my fist shot to his face swiftly a couple of times. Another blow toward his ribcage, and he was the one on his knees this time.

From the way he looked up at me, in pain but mostly furious, I knew I’ve done the right amount of damage to hurt him seriously enough but not severely.

“Sorry,” I shrugged and turned away.

Anna grabbed my bag, which was left neglected on the ground, and helped me up the stairs, forming a different anxious question every few seconds or so.

“You sure you’re alright?” she asked again as she reached out a hand to open our door.

“Yes,” I insisted in the forth time and stepped into the room. My mind was blurry, my vision felt as if it weren't clear enough and breathing hurt, but nothing serious.

Inside, Dean was sitting on the couch with his feet stretched and intertwined on the old coffee table.

“Hey,” he mumbled distractedly, his eyes narrowed and staring with concentration at his book. “Cas, could you help me-“ his voice cut abruptly when he raised his head and his eyes caught my drooping figure.

“What the hell happened?” he asked as he got up promptly and rushed toward us, gripping my shoulders to steady me and take my weight off Anna.

“It’s nothing,” I said, at the same time Anna said, “he got in a fight.”

Dean's forehead creased as he examined me, one hand still on my shoulder.

“You should go to the clinic.”

“It’s better than it looks,” I insisted. He gave me another look and let it go.

“Alright, big boy. At least let me probe you.”

“What exactly does this offer include?” I joked as I headed toward the couch.

“An extended exploration,” he said suggestively and pushed my shoulder gently toward the couch. “Of your bleeding nose. Lie.”

I did as he said and spread my body on the couch, letting my eyelids drop sluggishly.

“God, your face is covered in blood,” he murmured. I felt his fingers on my face suddenly and choked a little. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I stammered. “Cold fingers.”

“Sorry,” he said absently and added, “tell me if it hurts.”

His fingers pressed against my nose, and then fluttered on my cheekbones to my jaw.

“You okay, Cas? You even breathing?”

My eyes opened to a thin slit. Dean was looking at me with worry, his hand a few inches away, the tips of its fingers smeared with a few drops of blood.

“Yes,” I answered. That wasn’t a complete lie; I _was_ alright.

“Anna,” he said and turned around to look behind him. “I need a wet towel, a glass of water and painkillers from the bathroom.” I heard her steps fading as she walked away and let my eyelids drop again.

“Dean, are you…” I paused to breathe, ignoring the protest of my aching ribs. “Are you secretly a doctor?” my lips curved in a little smile.

“I patched enough bullet holes to take care of you, chucklehead. Now, where else did they hit you? Was that Zach again? You gotta stop teasing him, man.”

“Yes, it was him. And Dean…” I opened my eyes again and saw him looking at me with concern.

“He had a mustache.” Now Dean looked confused.

“And he was curling it.”

He clenched his teeth, annoyed but trying not to laugh. “If your jokes were actually _funny,_ you dork, you’d have the right to tell ‘em.  Now shut up and tell me.” He looked over at my loose body. “I don’t see any more blood. Did he hit you somewhere else?"

Anna appeared behind him and handed him the towel, putting everything else he asked for on the table. Dean took the towel and started patting on my face.

“Give it to me,” I snatched it away from his hand and started wiping my face less carefully. It stung around my nose. “I can do it myself.”

He rolled his eyes. _“Where else?”_

“Ribs,” I answered and my eyes dropped on the little amulet on his neck, the one he dropped on my bed yesterday. He never took it off. I wondered why it was so important to him.

“My mind feels weird,” I pointed out as I cleaned my cheeks from the blood.

“You think?” Dean snorted. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact you drank half a bottle of whiskey last night. Remind me to never do that again.” I saw Anna fluttering around him, trying to be useful.

“You can go,” I assured her, ignoring Dean; I had no problem doing last night again.

“I want to help,” she protested, looking a bit helpless.

“Take off your shirt,” Dean ordered. It took me a moment to comprehend he was talking to me and not providing a solution to Anna's feeling of uselessness. 

“Actually, just roll it up. You shouldn’t get up now.”

“Why are you two acting like I was hit by a car? I’m fine,” I claimed and tried to sit up, but Dean pushed my chest back onto the couch. A solid pain spread inside my chest and made it harder to breathe for a moment, but I pursed my lips and swallowed it. I wanted Anna to stop worrying, and Dean to stop probing me. The whole business of his hands touching me was damaging my blood pressure. 

Anna stood by the side of the couch, hesitating.

“It’s okay, I’ve got this,” Dean said. Eventually, she sighed and left unwillingly.

“Shirt up, big boy,” Dean said as she closed the door behind her.

I rolled my shirt up my chest and Dean pressed his fingers against my chest.

“She just wanted to see you shirtless,” he said matter-of-factly. “Where’d he hit you?”

I didn’t answer. Dean’s fingers fumbled down toward my midriff and to my sides, pressing onto my ribs.

“Cas?”

He looked at my face.

“You know that breathing is necessary for all living creatures, yeah?”

I inhaled a shallow breath.

“There you go. Now, do you feel any pain or am I just stroking your chest for nothing?” his fingers trailed over my chest again.

“It’s not that bad,” I managed to stutter eventually.

“You’re hardly breathing,” he protested. I bit my tongue from saying it didn’t have much to do with my injuries, and said instead, “I’ll be alright in a short time.”

He looked at me doubtfully, but didn’t argue further.

“Take a pill, at least,” he said as he stood up.

I sat up slowly and grabbed the glass that rested on the table. Sitting down beside me, Dean murmured, “You’re definitely a hunter material.”

“Hmm?” I voiced, my mouth filled with water.

“N’thing,” he said. He watched me as I swallowed down the pill.

“Your nose is bleeding again,” he said after a while. “Lean your head backwards.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” I teased with a light grin and let my head rest on the headrest of the couch.

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes, and looked away, a smile ghosting over his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (btw - the "I love it when you get bossy" part is a John and Mary reference) 
> 
> AHHH MY COMEBACKS ARE SO BAD SMH  
> guys, I'm sorry you gotta put up with this. at some point my writing gets better... *sweats nervously*


	3. Home Is Wherever I'm With You

As time deepened into the winter, classes got harder. Dean was doing his worst to study, and I was doing my best.

It was the night before our big tests and I was trying to help Dean with his studying, since he wouldn’t help himself. 

I was on my bed, reading from a five-pages-long article. I had no idea what I was saying, but I hoped Dean did.

He was lying on his bed, trying to throw a clean pair of rolled socks high enough in the air to make it touch the ceiling. And he wasn’t paying any attention to me.

“You’re not listening,” I claimed accusingly, pausing my reading when I got to the third page.

 “Hell I ain’t.”

“You need to study.”

“I studied all week,” he protested. 

“You said yourself you don’t remember anything.”

“Well, I can’t concentrate so go do something useful.” He aimed the socks at me and threw the pair thoughtlessly into the air. I caught it and realized it was mine.

“Sock thief,” I pouted at him. I folded his papers neatly and threw them at him. “Boo, you whore.”

“D’you just quote Mean Girls on me?” he smirked as I got up and headed toward the bathroom, ignoring him.

“Nerd.”

“Well, you understood the reference, so, like you say - joke’s on you,” I shrugged and closed the bathroom door. I turned on the water and started stripping off my clothes, hurrying to heat the water and get inside the shower before I freeze to death.

It was the middle of our exam period, and the test tomorrow was one of my most important ones. Dean told me over and over to stop worrying about it, but I was still nervous. I'd usually have a hard time trying not to worry about my exams, and there was nothing Dean could do about it except mock me and then hit my arm playfully to show he was joking. That didn't leave me with much but a warmth in my chest and a mild blush.

I turned the handle of the shower, heating the water that poured over my body, and tried to forget the feeling of Dean's hand against my shoulder. 

I was washing my hair from the last slippery layer of shampoo when I heard Dean’s voice outside the door.

“Hey,” he called and knocked. I turned the water off and grabbed my towel.

“I’m headin’ out, you wanna come?”

“Can’t, friends coming,” I said and stepped out of the bathroom, searching for my pants.

“Well, congratulations.” He moved toward the door. “Bye.”

“Don’t get too drunk,” I managed to say before he stepped out, his “whatever” slipping into the room just before the door shut.

It turned out that more than just Hanna and Balthazar came, like was planned - Hannah brought Anna and a ginger girl named April and Balthazar brought Uriel, who I knew from one of my classes, so the room ended up being quite dense.

While the rest of them huddled together on the couch, I sat with Hannah and April on the floor and chatted about Christmas break.

It was horrible. I invited them over thinking I had to have some social activity of any kind from time to time, but I forgot how hard it was; I didn’t know how to be social. I always said the wrong thing at the wrong time, or made bad jokes. At least when Dean was there he’d laugh and say I’m cute, but now I didn’t even have that.

“Christmas break only lasts a few days,” Hannah said with a grimace, and I turned and tried to concentrate on her words. 

“It’s not that bad,” I argued. I was going to spend Christmas at home with my siblings again - the first holiday during which I wasn’t already at home and had to travel back - and it wasn’t exactly a holiday to look forward to. Not that I didn’t miss my siblings - but spending a few days with them without any way to escape was moving on a scale between mostly-fun to unbearably-torturous.

"I mean - it's break, it's winter, and you get to see your family," I went on. 

Beside me, April nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s not that bad.” She leaned a bit closer and smiled at me.

“So you’re going to be with your family on Christmas?” she asked me.

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s cool! Most people don’t spend enough time with their family these days. I do, though. I think it’s important.” Her bright eyes stared into mine from a few inches' distance. Absently, I leaned back against the wall and took a sip of my beer.

“So you visit home often?” I asked, trying to direct the conversation to her. It worked out pretty smoothly and she started talking about her family fluently, not leaving my mind much time to think about my own.

It was probably close to midnight when the door flew open and Dean burst into the room, his walk unstable.

Drunk.

Every face in the room was turn to him, and my lips pursed into an unhappy line. 

“Cas…” Dean mumbled and tried not to trip over a shirt on the floor.

I sighed and stood up, asking everyone to leave, slightly irritated by Dean’s drunkenness but also relieved by the relative solitude. They scattered up, and when I turned my back to the closed door I saw Dean half-sitting half-falling on his bed.

“You’ll be hungover during your test, you idiot,” I noted critically. 

“Cas…”

“What?”  I asked impatiently and approached his bed. He gestured me to sit beside him, so I sat. He brought his face closer to mine and gazed at me for a long moment.

“youreyesarereallyblue,” he blurted out eventually.

“What?”

“Your-eyes-are-rea…” he trailed off abruptly, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Nevermind.”

He blinked the speed of a tired turtle and his body tilted toward me. I held my hand against his arm, keeping him from falling on my lap. 

“Sorry for scaring your friends away,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay,” I murmured and my expression softened. “It wasn’t that fun anyway. If I get too sociable I might have a heart attack.”

“Yeah, y’right.” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry for getting too drunk again." His eyes were starting to close, though I could tell he tried to be serious.

“It’s okay,” I mumbled softly. “Just sleep it off.”

His eyes closed and his head fell onto my lap.

“I’m going to kill you one day,” I said with a sigh when his breath stabilized. “If you won’t kill me first.”

I got him to lie in a close-enough-to-comfortable position and took his shoes off, and then placed one of them by his face on his pillow. The headache would be punishment enough, but I couldn’t resist.

“Look at my life choices,” I murmured to myself and went to brush my teeth. Dean started snoring quietly after only a couple of moments.

 

It was bright. Sunny.

Someone was talking, and I felt something shake my leg forcefully.

“Hmmf.” I didn’t open my eyes.

“C’mon, you’re late.” I heard Dean’s voice, but I was still too asleep to realize he was talking to me.

“Hampf,” I blurted irritably and covered my eyes with my arm.

“Test,” Dean repeated, and this time I could fuzzily hear a smile in his voice. “Late.”

“What… oh, fuck.” I straightened up quickly, my eyes snapping open.

“That’s the attitude.”

I looked around frantically and bolted to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then back to the room, the clothes I picked off the floor piling up in my arms.

“What’s the time?” I asked, my voice a blur.

“I don’t know, almost nine? You’ve got like… ten minutes.” He sounded odd and very tired, but I didn’t bother to look at him.

“Fuck, fuck…” I snatched a pair of socks from the closet.

“Hey, calm down, you’ll make it. Thanks for the smell bomb, by the way.”

“Shut up, Dean. Or I swear I’m going to punch your little pretty face,” I muttered.

He grabbed my arm and stopped me from storming around the room.

“Stop panicking,” he ordered.

“You’d understand if you fucking cared about your fucking exams.” I struggled to put my shoes on with Dean still holding my arm. “I’m gonna fucking fail.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas, you didn’t tell me you knew how to swear.” He tugged lightly at my wrist to soften the tease. “I’mma have to wash your mouth with soap if you continue with this language.”

“It’s not funny, Dean, I’m almost out of minutes,” I muttered as I shoved my foot into the shoe.

I sighed with relief when I managed to put on my second shoe in the right angle. I had under ten minutes to get to campus, which was alright if I walked fast, but I still needed my bag - phone - keys - water -

“Oh, God.” I’ll never make it on time.

Dean grabbed my face with both hands and forced me to look into his eyes.

“Cas.”

“W-what.”

He kissed me. “You can do it.”

I gulped.

Dean shoved my bag into my hands and gave my shoulder a nudge. I turned around slowly and walked away, not looking back.

“I can do it,” I murmured as I walked down the stairs.

Dean Winchester kissed me.

I could do this. 

Some amount of time later I found myself sitting in a chair, without even remembering I entered the building.

“Concentrate,” I mouthed. I barely noticed Balthazar arriving and sitting beside me. Then I had a paper in front of me and I was biting my pen.

He kissed me.

Anything could happen.

I was halfway through the exam. And then I was done. I didn’t even look at the clock, but it felt like it took me a couple of hours or so, as usual.

I saw April when I was finally on the way back to the dorms. She was nice, asked me about my day, but I was completely distracted.

“Hey, you wanna go out sometime?” she said somewhere through the pretty much one-sided conversation.

“What?” I looked at her blankly.

“Never mind.” She mumbled, flushing red.

I stared for a moment and then said, “Sorry, I’m really, really off today, April.”

He kissed me.

“Had a big test.”

“Sure." Her smile was somewhat disappointed. “I get it.”

She didn't stay to chat much longer.

When I was finally back in our room, Dean wasn’t there. I lied on my bed and stared at the ceiling. 

Anything could happen.

When I heard the door open I got up.

“Hey,” Dean said and got inside, his hair damp from rain. He pushed into my hand a disposable Starbucks cup.

“Coffee?”

“…Thanks.” It was hot and burned my hands, so I walked to the coffee table by the couch and put the cup on it.

He drank from his cup and put it on the table next to mine, and then sat down on his bed and started taking his shoes off.

“Are we…” I started, but my throat dried. I took a breath and tried again.

“Are we going to talk about what’s happened?”

For a fraction of a second Dean’s face twisted with anxiety. Then he looked at me.

“Are we?”

I stared back for a moment, quiet.

A couple of seconds passed silently. Then he looked away.

“So how was your test?” He got up and started cleaning his clothes from the floor, which he'd rarely do.

“I don’t know,” I said, expressionless. I wasn’t sure what I felt. I didn't want to ruin anything between us.

I grit my teeth. I _did_ know how I felt. My brain was whispering to me, reasoning.

 _Admit it,_ it said. _Your heart sank._

“How come?” Dean asked and kicked his shoes aside.

“Couldn’t concentrate.” I paced forward. “I mean, I think it went fine. Sort of did it automatically.”

He snorted. "You say it like it's that easy."

"I studied a lot," I shrugged. 

We were close now, and Dean clearly avoided my look. I forced myself to gain courage and do what I had to do, since he evidently wasn't about to do it.

“Dean... we’re best friends.” Funny how I could say that so confidently when I’ve known him for only a few months, but I didn't even pay much thought to my words; I knew he'd agree. “I don’t want it to get awkward between us.”

“Me neither,” he mumbled and sat on his bed again, right in front of me, playing with a silver ring he told me once belonged to his mother. He looked up at me, his eyes bright, worried and bashful.

He looked childlike. Beautifully so.

“So either we decide to forget about it and move on…” I said, gulping. He was obviously uncomfortable talking about it. Did he think it was easier for me? After all, I was the one having a crush. Every time I opened my mouth in front of him now felt like the hardest thing I've done. 

“Or?”

I closed my eyes and put two fingers against the upper side of my nose, a lousy attempt to hide the obvious emotions on my face.

“Or not.”

My heart beat so fast, it felt like it went up my throat and wouldn’t let me speak.

“I don’t wanna forget about it,” Dean said quietly, finally looking up as I opened my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I’m no good with talkin’, but-but I don’t wanna forget about it.” His voice held some kind of terrible worry, like he was expecting me to laugh at him or something.

I sat down beside him hesitantly, trying to steady the pace of my breathing.

Something was definitely stuck in my throat.

“Me neither,” I managed to say eventually. Dean deliberated for a moment, and then leaned his head on my shoulder.

“Dean-“

He lifted his head. “Too soon?”

“N-no. You’re damaging my blood pressure.”

 

* * *

 

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes, Dean. It’s not a big deal,” I insisted, but my voice came out edgy. He noticed, so I figured I’d better just explain.

“Just - as long as we’re there, we’d better…”

I caught his eye, and he understood.

“Not be together. Yeah, I get it.”

It was about Christmas. Dean had mentioned on a random occasion that he had nowhere to be during the holiday, and out of the goodness of my heart - and secretly because I started missing him just thinking about us not being together for the whole winter break - I invited him to come with me and spend the holiday at dad’s house.

The only problem was…

“I’m sorry,” I huffed, frustrated. “It’s just - Naomi and Michael wouldn’t be happy about it, and dad has done so much to keep us together-“

“It’s fine,” Dean assured me and leaned in to kiss my cheek swiftly. “I’m grateful for even having a place to stay in.”

I expected his eyes to be even slightly tensed when he pulled back, but he looked at me sincerely, with a cheered smile.

“What about Sam?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed, watching his own thumb as it moved in circles around my knuckles - a contact I tried to ignore so I could concentrate on his words. “Last time I heard from him, he was… on a trip, with dad. God knows where they are.” He finished his sentence with a murmur, and then changed the subject. “Call your father, yeah?”

I picked up my phone and called home, asking dad whether it was alright if I brought a friend to stay the holiday with us. As expected, he didn't mind. 

“He said Naomi’s husband isn’t coming,” I told Dean when I ended the call. “Thank God. He’s a dick. But she’s bringing Grace.”

“Grace?”

“Her daughter. She’s seven.”

“Oh.” His forehead creased. “And… we want her to?”

“Yes,” I smiled. “I didn’t see her for a long time. I miss her.” My face dropped, but when I saw Dean smiling softly beside me I snapped.

“Don’t you _dare_ say I’m cute - or - or anything like that!” I warned severely, trying to keep a solemn expression on while he laughed.

“And,” I pouted at him. “You better prepare yourself. Because being in one room with all my siblings is like living the apocalypse.”

 

The day when we packed our bags and made our way across the state was surprisingly sunny. Vexingly cold, but sunny.

Dean said we can drive in his car instead of taking the train, and so I found myself sitting in a black, very clean ’67 Chevy Impala beside Dean, who whistled and turned on the radio while he got us out of the parking lot.

The cheery sounds came out of the radio fluently. _"_ _Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you, remember I'll always be true..."_

“Put in some cassette, would you?” he asked when he heard what was playing. I frowned at him.

“That’s a nice song,” I protested. “You can’t turn off the Beatles.”

“There’s Led Zeppelin in the glove box,” he said indifferently.

My lips pursed. “I changed my mind,” I spluttered, reaching my hand forward, and he smirked.

It was already afternoon when Dean parked the car by the sidewalk near the house, and the air was getting cloudy and much colder.

My home was a two-story house in the middle of a nice, quiet neighborhood.

Dean hated it.

He didn’t say anything, but from the slight pull of his lips down and the way he looked around when we walked down the street, carrying our bags, I inferred he didn’t like the _loftiness_ of the neighborhood. As soon as we entered the house, though, his expression changed completely, the frown dropping from his face and an admiring look sinking in instead.

The entrance room was small, the staircase to the top floor at the back of it.

“Left, living room. Right, dining room. Up, bedrooms,” I announced while Dean looked around, eyes wide.

As soon as my voice filled the air, I heard footsteps - a few of them, some slow, some faster. One running.

“It’s beautiful,” Dean murmured, still looking around, and at that moment a couple of figures burst into the room - a short, thin one at the top of the stair case - followed by her mother - and an older one by the entrance of the living room.

“Gracey,” I called as the kid ran down the stairs and clung onto my legs.

Dean watched us politely as I picked her up and went to embrace Naomi and dad.

“Dad - Dean, Dean - dad,” I introduced absently as Grace stuck her fingers in my hair and ruffled it slowly - she'd always do that, but now, Dean present, I hopelessly tried to straighten it back. 

“Mom forced me to put on a dress,” she complained and tugged at the ends of her bright blue dress.

“Not too bad, you look pretty,” I encouraged with a smile, watching tensely as Dean shook hands with my father.

“Who is this?” she whispered and pointed at Dean, abandoning her line of attack against her mother.

“Just - um, a friend. From college. I see Gabriel is already here as well,” I changed the subject, noticing weak sounds of a guitar from the floor above. Naomi was already gone in the direction of the kitchen when Grace nodded and slid down from my arms.

“Cover your ears,” she offered, and I did so as I signaled Dean to do the same before she took in a deep breath and screamed.

_“Gaaaabe!”_

There was an unsatisfied huff from the direction of the kitchen, and the music stopped.

“Good job,” I grinned at her and we shared a high five, Dean laughing with a creased forehead by my side.

“I see there’s more than one kid in this house,” he said.

“There are actually three,” Dad said when Gabriel appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t mind waking the little devil, huh, Gracey?” he grinned on his way down, a little ball of cloths in his arms.

“I forgot,” Grace mumbled and wrapped an arm around my leg defensively.

“That’s alright, I think he survived,” he assured her and stood in front of Dean.

“You must be Dean, eh?” he asked and mannerly added, “hold this for a sec.” And since dad was back in the living room again, he handed Dean the baby he was holding and turned to give me a warm hug and a couple of too-strong pats on the back.

“He’s just jealous because I’m taller,” I said to Dean with a light cough.

Dean - a slightly shocked look on his face, but seemingly managing well the mission he was given - managed to say,

“Cas didn’t tell me you had a kid.”

“I don’t,” Gabe said and turned back toward him. “He’s friends’. They asked me to take care of him for a couple of days.”

“That small?” Dean mumbled, frowning into the blankets in his arms. “How’s he called?”

“They named him _Tom,_ ” Gabriel rolled his eyes with disdain. “Boring name. I call him Loki. Listen, Cassie, you mind watching him for a few minutes?” and before I could respond, he was gone in the direction of the kitchen, Grace following him.

“Some responsible parents,” Dean muttered.

“Oh, sorry for this,” I said as I realized he was still holding Loki. I placed my arms under him and Dean made sure he was secured in my arms before he let him go.

“Didn’t think we’d end up in this scenario so soon,” he spluttered, and we both flushed red head-to-toe.

“So, um, what’s the plan?” he changed the subject.

I shifted the baby in my hands and answered gratefully. “Luci and Michael are supposed to be here in a couple of hours. Apart from Christmas dinner that we’re having tomorrow, we usually just order a pizza.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, and on his face flashed a grin that could break a guy’s heart.

 

“Done,” I announced as I dropped a huge pile of blankets on one of the living room sofas.

Dean didn’t turn around, keeping his eyes on the tall, thin Christmas tree in front of him.

Everyone else was already sleeping upstairs. With four bedrooms for eight people and a baby, Dean and I were more than happy to give up cozy beds for the benefit of privacy and short sofas.

“Dean?”

The room was dark except for the little colorful lights on the tree, which made it possible to see almost clearly but not impossible to fall asleep by.

When he didn’t answer, I walked and stood beside him.

“Could think you’ve never seen a tree before,” I said with a smile and nudged an elbow into the side of his chest.

“A real one?” his head turned toward me swiftly. “Where would I…” he paused and looked away again.

“Never had the chance.”

I pursed my lips, silent. He wouldn’t explain what he said anyway, and me asking about it would just upset him.

“Well, now you do,” I said finally, and with a glance back to make sure no one was there I moved my hand and entwined our fingers.

“Come on, we better get some sleep,” I said, but he didn’t move.

“Are all your Christmases like that?” he asked quietly.

“Well… it hasn’t even begun yet, but yes, I guess. It’s a little less loud when there aren’t any babies around, you know,” I smiled at him. “When we were younger we used to climb the roof and hang the little lights there. Now it feels a bit more like an alcohol and cheap food meetings center.”

“Sounds like our place back in college, eh?” he bumped his shoulder into mine.

“Oh, it’s not _that_ bad,” I smiled. “It’s nice here at Christmas, as much as it can be with all of us in the same room. Which...” my lips dropped to a grimace. "Can be unbearable if they try hard enough."

“It can’t be that bad,” Dean said and looked at me, one corner of his lips lifting playfully. His eyes reflected the tiny colorful light bulbs on the tree.

“Unless… something happened?”

“Never mind it,” I murmured. 

He watched me for a long moment before huffing, “fair enough.” 

“It’s not a secret or anything,” I couldn't help but clarify.

I saw in Dean’s eyes that he understood what I was implying with a bit too harsh shade to my tone. I wasn't keeping secrets from him; he didn't return the favor. 

“I’m sorry-“

“No, I’m sorry, Cas…”

“But you won’t tell me anyway, right?” and there was again the edge to my voice, although I didn’t intend it.

“It’s best like that.” His voice was rough too, now.

“I don’t know, it can’t be that bad…” I murmured, and he huffed out a laugh.

He tugged at my hand when I turned away and pressed his lips gently onto mine, giving me a chance to protest if I wanted. It was a horrible mistake, though, because that was the moment I was fantasizing about all day, and the one moment everyone was asleep and we didn’t need to be careful, and with Dean’s kind cooperation we were on the couch in a few seconds, his hands sinking into my hair and my chest leaning lightly against his.

“Shut up,” I murmured when I felt his smile under my lips, placing my left palm under his neck and pulling him closer.

“Didn’t say anything,” he muttered with a little smirk between my kisses, his hands fumbling under my shirt and shoving my back down as our kisses became more and more restless and longing, losing the gentle and soft touch-

Suddenly I heard feet tapping lightly on the floor, and then stopping at the same abruptness.

I straightened up and slowly turned away to face the person who stood behind me, Dean sitting up on the couch.

It took me a moment to spot her figure, but when I did, my eyes narrowed.

“Grace?”

She looked at me, her eyes wide, and stepped closer to wrap an arm around my leg.

“What happened?” I asked as I sat down and sat her on my knees. I hoped the dim light covered for the redness in my cheeks. 

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"What about?" I asked, and she burst into a horror-striking description of a people-eating red eyed rabbit. 

I tried to calm her for a few minutes but watching the horror on her face when I suggested getting back into bed I thought of a new, a little riskier idea.

“You can sleep down here with us,” I offered, and both Dean’s and Grace’s eyes landed on my face.

Naomi would probably be mad when she’d find out her daughter broke her strict command and didn’t sleep in her bed upstairs, but I couldn’t let Grace go back to her bed like that. She wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.

“Really?” Grace asked, her eyes wide, and I knew that even if Naomi would be mad her little smile when she heard my words was worth it.

“Yes, we can sleep on the floor. It may be a little cold, though.”

“I don’t care,” she said, her eyes still wide. I looked at Dean and he shrugged.

“Alright, then,” I said and Grace slid to the floor as I stood up. “Let’s make ourselves an igloo.”

I brought another blanket from upstairs and spread it on the carpet. The other two would hopefully be enough to cover us warmly.

“Cas?” Grace asked while I straightened the tips of the blanket. I smiled - Dean’s nickname must’ve caught.

“Hmm?”

“Are you…”

I looked at her.

“What?”

She looked at Dean, then back at me.

“Are you boyfriends?” she whispered.

I looked down and fiddled with the cloth.

“Don’t tell your mom, alright?”

She nodded.

 

Dinner was loud. As usual.

“I probably should have warned you,” I said to Dean as I shoved silver cutlery into his hand and gestured him to sit down by the table.

“Oh, wait,” I narrowed my eyes. “I did.” He smirked.

“Surprisingly, though, we youngsters aren’t the ones making all the noise.” I glanced at Grace, who sat between Dean and her mother and smiled at me brightly while swinging her legs under the table. That side of the table was quiet, compared to the other side, which had my brothers arguing about something.

It went fine.

Dean was getting to know everyone, being extremely friendly in a way I didn’t have the energy to assemble anymore, until I started to think they were going to have a petition to replace me with Dean as their brother. 

And then Gabriel turned to me.

“So, Cassie, your first months in college.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“How’s it? I’d bet my leg your grades are good. Find any girl yet?” he smirked at me.

“No,” I said casually and tried to focus on my plate. I didn’t miss Naomi’s glance though, passing between me and Dean questioningly. I realized with delay that our elbows were put way to naturally close to one another on the table for two guys to feel comfortable about as friends, but if I’d move my arm now it would look a bit too well timed.

“Well, there’s April,” Dean grumbled after a moment of silence. Grace was the only one polite enough not to look up at him.

“What about her?” I blurted.

“She’s kinda into you,” he raised an eyebrow. “Like, ninety-eight percent?”

“No, she’s not,” I argued.

“She is. She totally is, Cas.” Now both his eyebrows were up, with what was almost reproach. My stare dropped back to my plate, trying to reduce the attention drawn to us. Gabriel declared loudly something which I didn't pay attention to and everyone except me and Dean turned to listen to him.

“Well, I didn’t notice it,” I muttered under my breath. 

“Well, I **did** ,” Dean said. I huffed with frustration, not even sure what I was mad about. My eyes flew over the faces around the table and caught dad glancing at me from the corner of my eye.

“Never mind that,” Dean said and bumped our legs below the table. I sighed. 

“So Dean, d’Cassie tell you about our tradition?” Luci asked from across the table.

“Which one?” I asked, creasing my forehead.

“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Gabriel scowled. Dean’s eyes jumped between our faces questioningly.

“Bananagrams,” Luci said to Dean.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“It’s a game,” Grace explained.

“Just… drop it,” I said.

“Ain’t no way you’re quitting on me this year, Cassie,” Gabriel raised a warning finger. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

I couldn’t help a smile now. “Like you did the last time?”

“Shut up,” Gabriel said and took a gulp of his drink. “Come on,” he stood up and yanked me toward the living room.

“What happened last time?” Dean asked as we left the room.

“Nothing,” Gabriel and I said at the same time.

“He’s been winning everyone for - how long now, Cassie?” Luci said, following us.

“Four years, I think,” I said unwillingly. My knee brushed against Dean’s thigh as we sat down on the thick rug. He glanced at me, eyes bright.

“But not consistently.”

“He doesn’t like to brag,” Luci explained as he sat down.  

“Winning in Bananagrams is not any sort of achievement,” I protested, adding, “especially not when I’m competing you.” We laughed at Gabriel’s scowl.

Dean didn’t know the game and Luci was just watching, so it was just Gabe and me. Well, sort of.

“This is not fair,” I grumbled after a while, when Gabriel finally convinced Dean to turn against me and help him. It was three against one now, since Luci has joined Gabriel after I pulled out _electromagnetic_ last round.

“Cassie, this is _completely_ fair,” he argued. “If the both of us can’t defeat our own little brother, maybe your roommate will show an extraordinary wisdom.”

“Extraordinary! I should try that,” I mumbled and scanned my assortment of letters. “It’s not about how smart you are,” I added more audibly after a moment. “You just need to think of longer words - ah!” my eyes brightened and I started scattering the words I’ve already assembled.

“Oh no,” Luci mumbled. “He has an idea.”

“Fear me,” I shot at them when they laughed.

Dean did appear to be a bit of a help, but after a few minutes-

“What the hell is that?” Luci asked and squinted at the long line of wooden pieces that was set in front of me.

“Flo - floc - _what_?”

Gabriel and Dean leaned forward to try to understand what my letters read.

“Floccinaucinihilipilification,” I said proudly and frowned. “But I’m missing a C.”

“I give up,” Gabriel declared.

“He’s too good,” Luci scowled. “That’s why I never join. This is practically humiliation.”

“Losers,” I smirked.

“Easy for you to say, when you’re on the winning side,” Gabriel muttered, adding as he got up and walked away, “Four years. There were times he didn’t even know the words I’d win him with. The empire has officially fallen.”

I smirked and started gathering the pieces into a small sack.

“So you’re good with really long words,” Dean commented when Luci left the room and we were left alone.

"Pretty much my only talent," I shrugged. “Studying English Literature, after all." Dean’s eyes fixated on mine. I tried to think of something to say, but all I could do was stare back.

“You believe in fate?” he asked after a long moment.

“No,” I blurted out, perplexed.

“Me neither,” he said, eyebrows furrowing, and looked away. “But maybe if you did, I would too.”

I didn’t understand what he meant, but I let it go and just kept watching his face in the dim light of the room. He never looked as beautiful to me again as he did that moment.


	4. Don't Look Back In Anger

Winter break was over before we noticed and soon enough we were back in our dorm room, studying for tests and falling asleep during classes. Time was passing quickly; the air was getting colder, then damper, then warmer.

“Freakin' transition seasons, eh?” Dean said one night.

“Hmm,” I muttered from under my thick comforter.

“What’s that?”

“Shut up,” I said and he laughed. My voice came out very hoarse, and he was taking advantage of my cold to mock me.

“Not going out?” I asked sleepily.

“Someone’s gotta make you tea,” he said distractedly while he wandered around the room for some reason I didn’t manage to catch on.

“Don’t stay in for me,” I mumbled with a long huff, continuing when he ignored me. “I don’t feel that bad, really. S’just a sore throat.” I shifted on the soft mattress and yanked my blanket higher.

“Tired,” I grumbled and he laughed again.

“You talk a lot for a tired man,” he pointed out, and something heavy sank into the side of my bed.

“Thought you had plans,” I pressed, though I probably wasn’t that convincing with my face pressed against my pillow and my words blurred.

“I just - rather stay here, ‘k?”

“’Aight,” I mumbled. Something smoothened my hair. He was humming something, same melody he was humming for days now, slow and sounding a bit weird without its harmony, but Dean managed to make it beautiful with only a quiet hum. I liked hearing it. 

“C’mon, make some space, Sleepy,” he said and slipped under the comforter when I moved reluctantly.

“What are you humming?” I asked and shifted so I could rest my head on his chest comfortably.

“S’just some song that stuck in my head,” he said and stopped humming.

“I didn’t mean you to stop,” I said after a moment and turned my head to look at him. He shrugged.

“Come on,” I pleaded croakily.

“I don’t do singing,” he said reluctantly.

“You just did,” I argued.

“I  _hummed_.”

“Hum, then,” I said decisively and put my head back on his chest. He didn’t answer. I was starting to fall asleep when I heard his voice again. Just a soft hum at the beginning, then drifting into something clearer.

 _“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust…”_ his fingers moved through my hair and down the nape of my neck.

“Stop it,” I grumbled with a deep sigh and rolled onto my side. “’M not your girlfriend.” He laughed and kept stroking my head slowly.

_“Secrets that I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours…”_

I could feel his fingers on my face now, brushing my forehead and moving down my cheek, but I was too deep in sleep to protest. He stopped singing suddenly and mumbled something.

“God, you look like an angel when you sleep.”

* * *

 

I sat on the edge of my bed, my hands resting absently in my lap. Even their brief contact with my jeans seemed to raise the temperature of my body.

It took Dean no longer than a minute to come out of the bathroom, his skin damp despite his thin clothing. The muscles in his arm stretched under the tan skin as he reached for his car keys.

I smiled at him quietly when he passed by me, and he smiled back.

This silence held a peaceful tone, the sound of birds singing outside in the hot morning, of students’ rushed steps across the hallway outside our door, and the buzz of someone’s phone coming from another room - an awfully pleasant silence, comparing to the one that has prevailed here recently.

I stood up, yanking my bag from the floor and leading the way out the room.

The ride was quiet.

I couldn’t think of something to say. After a while, I felt Dean’s hand sneaking to rest on mine, whenever it wasn’t occupied with the gearstick. He didn't turn the radio on, nor did he try and bring up a topic of discussion. 

We got there in the early afternoon.

Dean’s goodbye wasn’t more than a lingering pat on the shoulder and half a grin - either he was worried my sister might notice us, or he simply preferred it that way - yet he didn’t drive away while I left the car and crossed the road. I tried not to look back as I walked away from him, imagining the next days of our separation.

I wouldn't miss him for a moment. 

Naomi’s residence was a pleasant two-story house with a small grassy property at the front, suiting the other elegant houses along the street. The wooden stairs at the front were painted white and made the slightest huff when I leaned my weight on them.

Four stairs, a couple of steps and a knock on the door.

I hoped for the best.

There was a pause, and then the click of a turning lock. The door opened.

The figure in front of me was shorter and thinner than the one I was expecting to find, but it gave a much warmer embrace. Once Grace recognized me, she gasped and jumped into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck tightly as I balanced her weight on my limbs.

“What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly. I shrugged, my shoulders lifting just as much as her weight would let them.

“Long time no seen. I thought I should pay a visit.” It was a poor excuse, given that I’d rarely come to visit. Grace didn’t notice, though. She was grinning and waving toward the street, and when I turned around to see who she was interacting with I caught the look of Dean’s hand dropping by his side, a crooked smile fading off his face as he turned around and got into his car.

“Is your mom home?” I asked as I stepped into the house.

“In the kitchen,” she answered.

“Give us a couple of minutes?”

She pouted, but let go of my neck. I let her slide carefully to the floor and climb up the stairs to the second story. Then I turned left, toward the kitchen.

Naomi was standing by the stove, stirring something inside a cooking pot idly. She was dressed in her usual suit, her posture strict, despite her domestic occupation.

“Hello, sister.” The low and casual sound of my tone rumbled across the room, fading quickly as I was trying not to startle her. She turned around, surprise spreading on her face.

“You didn’t hear us?” I wondered out loud at her expression.

“I thought it was Hans,” she explained. “He’s working until nightfall. What are you doing here?” she asked, trying for a smile to soften her tone.

“I needed a break. Do you mind if I stay here for the weekend? I’ll help with the chores and all, promise. I’m a very efficient laundress.” I smiled at her, but she seemed to have missed the joke.

“Yes. You could stay, if you don’t mind occupying the sofa. We don’t have a vacant room.”

“No problem,” I assured her. There was a short pause as I stepped deeper into the room and approached her with a somewhat awkward embrace.

She must’ve sensed I needed that hug, because she didn’t recoil or comment about my unusual behavior.

“You missed Grace’s birthday,” she pointed out a moment later, when I backed away to sit by the dining table and dropped my backpack to the floor.

“I know. That’s the reason I came.” Another poor excuse - I did plan on calling, or visiting for a couple of hours, but that was almost three weeks ago. July 29 was undeniably far in time from now.

“Well, a part of it.”

“What was the other part, then?” she asked, leaning against the cream-colored countertop. “I’m guessing it isn’t my pleasant company, or Hans’ attractive figure.”

I tensed as she spoke of her husband - who had, indeed, a nice shape to his muscles - but she smiled unconcernedly.

“No, it was…” I faltered, my eyes fixed on the blue tablecloth.

I haven’t been in this house for years, and I was glad to find out that Grace was growing up in a home more domestic and welcoming than I imagined her mother living in.

My head rose to meet Naomi’s awaiting eyes and I spoke reluctantly.

“I’ve had some problems with my roommate lately,” I said slowly, observing her face for any change, but she hardly seemed troubled.

“I mean, we’re fine now,” I continued when I saw she was expecting me to explain, and my eyebrows furrowed. “I think. But it’s been a few long weeks…”

It  _has_ been a few long weeks since I've seen Dean smile like he did today; weeks since we've last had a proper conversation. Now that I was thinking about it, my forehead creasing with calculations, I couldn't recall when exactly he stopped sleeping in my bed. 

I'd thought we were done.

I gulped, my mouth shutting with a thump. I lost concentration for a moment, and was dangerously close to speaking up my mind.

Naomi studied my face, but ignored my abrupt halt.

“What happened?” She asked. I knew this was a risky course, but I was tired of keeping quiet about it.

“Living with someone continuously can be difficult.” I raised my eyes to her and let out a weary sigh.

“At first it was big things… but eventually, the fights have lost their meanings.”

As my jaded eyes studied her face, I recalled a certain day. “We started arguing over senseless things. It was idiotic.”

It was a Monday.

_“Will you stop throwing your things everywhere?”_

I was late, and tired. My tone was harsh.

 _“Maybe if you’d wake up earlier you’d be able to walk straight and you wouldn’t have a problem, eh?”_ Dean’s voice was a rising grumble. I snapped.

_“Maybe if you’d wake me-“_

_“I’m not your fuckin’ mother, alright!”_

He was shouting now. There was a furious pause, short as a breath.

My voice was calm.

_“Fuck you, Dean. I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”_

The door slammed harder than I intended, but I couldn’t care less.

“Did you sort your issues?” Naomi’s voice scattered my thoughts away.

I blinked, shaking the memory off. When I continued talking, there was some exertion needed to keep my voice stable.

“Dean can be… a challenge, you could say, with this sort of things.” I smiled wryly. Whether it was his ego or his struggle for words, Dean wouldn’t speak up his mind - especially when it came to apologizing. 

I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Quietly, in the back of my mind, the knowledge that I myself was exactly the same ducked under a table and hid in shame.

_“Oh, what, you’re giving me the silent treatment now?”_

It was silly. Silly how I thought things were falling into place again.

_“If you’d stop shouting at me, maybe we could actually talk!”_

_“Well, maybe if you listened to me, I wouldn’t have to shout.”_ My voice came out harsh and cold. What was the point of this? We never got along anyway.

Dean didn’t answer, which didn’t help lessening my fury.

I was done. Before I’ve noticed, my feet were carrying me out the door, my teeth gritting tightly.

 _“You can come back and apologize all you want,”_ Dean was shouting now, as if he were asking the whole floor to hear. _“But I ain’t sleeping in your bed tonight!”_

The words barely got away through the crack the door left before shutting behind me; my ego did seem to like the slamming-doors effect.

Naomi examined my face, listening quietly.

 _There it is,_ I thought wryly to myself at the memory of Dean's last words. 

“Dean? From Christmas?” she asked, her nose wrinkling.

“Still my roommate,” I shrugged, trying to clear other ideas from her mind.

“I’m sure you could swap roommates, if you asked,” she suggested, and my eyebrows furrowed absently.

“We sorted things out, I think,” I said.

“Maybe you should, anyway,” she raised an eyebrow and turned around, facing the counter. “He seems unpleasant enough. Do you want something to drink?” she pressed the button heating her kettle.

A wave of held-back anger washed through me at the offence. Never mind me not being able to stand his presence at the moment, Dean was one of the best people I knew. I suppressed the words that rolled up my throat and shoved my chair back.

“No, thank you,” I answered politely and stood up. “I better check up on Grace. Thank you for letting me stay.” I picked my bag from the floor and stepped out of the kitchen, climbing out the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

 

Time flew faster than I’d imagined it will. I spent half the day playing Tea Party and Monopoly with Grace, and the other half helping Naomi cook dinner. It was more fun than I'd thought it would be, and for once - after months and months of not having any fun without him - I remembered that not everything is about Dean. And despite my concerns, I didn’t regret coming.

It was one a.m. when I was finally sure my sister and her husband were deep asleep, and I could pick up my phone and dial without leaving the house.

I lay back on the sofa and lifted my feet onto its other edge, eyeing the visible piece of the hallway at the top of the staircase.

Dean answered in the middle of the second ring.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

“Did I wake you?” I asked quietly, my voice gentle. I grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, lowering the volume to the same intensity as my own voice.

“I was just gonna go to bed, so, no.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, trying to hide my disappointment. “Talk to you tomorrow, then.”

“No, no,” he said in a rush, and a part of the heaviness in my chest disappeared.

“Another five minutes won’t hurt. And I…” he hesitated. “Never mind. How is it there?”

“Good,” I answered, gazing at the ceiling now. “Grace is growing too fast. And we baked a pie.”

There was a sudden breath - a huff or a gasp, I couldn’t tell - and Dean spoke in a solemn tone.

“You had pie without me?”

I was about to snort, but instead, I took my chance to be sarcastic.

“I was sort of planning this for months, trying to find ways to evade you and once we’re separated, bake pie to anger you. It worked, didn’t it?”

He laughed lightly at my foolish joke, just like he’d always do, and I huffed back a small laughter with relief.

“Well, next time you’re making pie, you’re making it for me.”

“Dean, we don’t have a kitchen,” I reminded him and smiled at the white ceiling, which looked dark in the dim light of the television.

“I didn’t say it had to be soon. It could be somewhere else. It could be five years from now. But you owe me a pie,” he decided, sounding satisfied with his arrangement, and my heart pulled and twitched. Did he really think we’d last five years? I haven’t believed we’d last five months, but Dean’s statement gave me some kind of foolish hope.

“Alright,” I mumbled in agreement.

At the corner of my eye, I spotted a shadowed figure. My lips pursed tensely, but I recognized Grace almost immediately by her height.

“I have to go,” I added when I saw her stepping tiredly down the stairs.

“’Aight.” There was a short, tense silence as he hesitated again, and I waited for him to speak.

“I miss you,” he mumbled eventually, and my throat tightened embarrassedly. I didn’t know whether he was talking about today or speaking generally of the last couple of distant, alienated months, but I knew he was taking the opportunity of being able to say that without looking into my eyes, and I was grateful for it.

“Miss you too,” I murmured with thick throat, immediately taking back what I'd thought that morning. Sure, a couple of days without his pain-in-the-ass behavior were nothing but a gift, but I was already starting to feel anxious to see him again. I hung up, not waiting to hear a response.

I slid my legs off the couch and sat up, watching Grace stroll past the kitchen entrance and crawl onto the sofa beside me.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I asked, resting a hand on her shoulder almost instinctively.

“I can’t sleep.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and she ducked her head against my chest and snuggled close to me. 

“How is it that every time I see you you’re having trouble sleeping, eh?” I asked warmly, and she shrugged, as if it were a coincidence.

“You must’ve known I forgot to give you your birthday present,” I said offhandedly and shoved my free hand into the bag that lay by the couch, plucking out a small box dyed deep purple.

Her eyes widened with curiosity when I put the box in her lap and she looked up at me.

“What is this?”

“Nothing special.  I found it at some old witch’s shop. Go on, open it,” I encouraged.

“A witch?” she asked amazedly as she opened the box carefully, pulling out a thin silver string.

“If she wasn’t one, she was putting on a pretty convincing show,” I shrugged. “Potions, amulets, weeds and all.”

I couldn’t tell if Grace was listening to me - she was gaping at the necklace that dangled from her fingers speechlessly.

The small glass cylinder that hung from the string contained some kind of odd matter - it looked partly liquid, partly gas, and was a mixed color of blue and white, faded at its ends. It hovered within its glass walls brilliantly, and from some angles, it sort of looked like God’s grace.

“It’s beautiful,” Grace whispered, and shoved her head through the string. It rested against her pajamas shirt, glistening dimly as if it had its own little energy source.

“I’m going to keep it until I’m old,” she grinned and lay down, placing her head on my lap and using her arm as a pillow. I laughed, relieved that she liked it. 

“What are you watching?”

I looked up at the television and clicked the “i” button.

“Something called Iron Man,” I answered, my eyebrows furrowing as I read the title.

“I don’t know what that is, but that guy looks good.” We watched as a man called Tony conversed with a young redhead woman inside what seemed like some sort of a machine-garage.

“Yeah,” Grace agreed with a yawn. I deliberated whether I should tell her to go to sleep, wondering if it’d have the opposite impact, but soon enough her eyelids fell and her breathing evened. I waited tiredly a few minutes to make sure she’s entirely unconscious, and then stood up carefully and carried her up to her room, tucking her small body under the blanket soundly while humming a quiet tune.

 

The following day was much of the same. After coming back from the zoo at noon, I mostly helped Naomi with mowing the lawn and other house chores they didn’t have time to do during the week, feeling helpful. At night, Grace sneaked down to the living room again, and when she fell asleep I carried her back to her bed and returned to my homework.

It was simple, nice.

Monday morning was bright with the early sun, and not as idle as the weekend.

“Wake up, Sleepy,” I urged as I shook Grace gently in her sleep.

“No,” she grumbled and grabbed my arm, cradling it between her head and the pillow.

“Come on, don’t you want to see me before I go?”

"Mmpff," she muttered. I pursed my lips, finally comprehending Dean's point of view when he'd try to wake me. Somnolence must've been a family trait.

"Come on, there's pancakes for breakfast."

That did the job.

Once Grace woke up, though, there was no trace of the grumpiness she showed in her sleep.

“Where’s mom?” she asked as she skipped down the stairs, dressed in her school uniform, amulet around her neck.

“Had to go to work early. She asked me to walk you to school,” I explained. “What do you want in your sandwich?”

She walked forward to stand beside me, resting her fingers on the counter. Her eyes rose to meet mine in a solemn, wide-eyed expression.

“Chocolate spread?”

“Your mom said distinctly no chocolate spread.” I couldn’t help the smile that sneaked onto my face.

Grace’s expression was still serious when she spoke. “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

“Chocolate it is,” I declared and grabbed the jar of Nutella out of the kitchen cupboard.

I was half expecting Grace to try and keep her distance from me as I escorted her to school, as children were sometimes ashamed of their adult companions, but she seemed rather happy I joined her, holding my hand and skipping gingerly over the stone fences.

“You’re all happy about school,” I commented as we walked; we were nearly there.

“I’m going to meet Taylor,” she announced happily.

“Who’s Taylor?”

“She’s my best friend.” She jumped off the edge of the fence and passed to a safer walk on the concrete. I turned to look forward, calmer now that I wasn't anxious to make sure Grace wasn't slipping off the fence.

“We’re going to marry one day, like you and Dean.”

I suppressed the snort that shoved up my throat, counting all the problems with her statement in my head, her mother - who just yesterday, as we were washing dinner’s dishes, gave me the “homosexuals are doomed to hell” lecture, chattering about how relieved she was our family was safe from all that and giving me a meaningful look - at the top of the list.

It didn’t matter anyway, I reminded myself; none of us married the person we thought we would when we were in primary school.

“That’s great, Gracey,” I said instead and handed her the small backpack I was holding in my other hand. We were at the school gate.

“Hey, I’ll see you sometime,” I said and knelt down. “Give your uncle a hug before you go.”

She let me pull her in and squeeze her before stepping away and waving at me. I waved back with a heavy sigh, watching her disappear in the crowd of students.

 _Time to go back home,_ I thought to myself as I strolled back to the house. My eyebrows furrowed, and I corrected myself.

_To college. Time to go back to college, with my dorky idiot._

I smiled, satisfied with the title I made up. It suited Dean all too well.

* * *

 

Dean was standing at a corner of the room, his right hand was wiping circles on one of the coffee shop tables where he started to work just a couple of weeks ago.

“When’s she supposed to be here?” He asked and looked up at me. 

“Six,” I answered and glanced at the street from the back of the shop, looking for Anna.

“She should be here in a couple, then,” Dean said and signaled me to go with him to the storage room.

I followed him to the small room at the back and watched him scan the shelves with his eyes. His black T-shirt fluttered up and down as his hands hovered besides the high shelves. 

I stuck my hands in my pockets and then pulled them out. My knee swayed lightly with nervousness. I cleared my throat.

“You better check if she’s already here,” Dean said absently.

“Yes,” I said quickly and peeked out the room toward the street. By a table outside the shop, Anna was just sitting down.

“Yes, she’s here,” I said nervously when I turned around toward Dean.

“See you later, then.” He paused for a second to grin at me and got back to picking small bags of coffee and sugar out of the shelves.

I swallowed and shifted my weight, trying to gain courage. I shouldn’t have been so stressed about it; it's been longer than a week since I got back from my sister's, in which both me and Dean have pretended to forgive and forget all about what was before I'd left. It wasn't like we've never kissed before... 

“You going?” Dean asked.

I gulped again. “Y-yes,” I stammered, and forced my legs to move towards him. With one swift movement I put a hand on his waist and pulled him into a slow kiss. Then I turned around and escaped the storage room with flushed face and a triumphant smile, not looking back to see Dean’s surprised and blushing face.

 

Anna took me hostage and spent most of the night talking to me about Dean.

It started when Dean came to take our orders. Or, to be specific, when he left.

“Oh, god,” Anna whispered and grabbed my wrist.

“What?”

“It’s him,” she mumbled with a sigh, and then her eyes focused on me. “Wait. You two are roommates, right?”

“Yes,” I replied with creased forehead. “Why?”

“I…” she blushed. “You think maybe he likes me?”

I stared at her blankly; this wasn’t a turn I expected the conversation to take.

“Uh… I don’t know,” I mumbled. I caught Dean’s eyes through the display window of the café and sent him a helpless look. He just winked at me and continued making a latte-to-go, obviously guessing - or knowing - what was going on.

“Did he just _wink_ at me?”Anna hissed excitedly.

“I… I guess,” I said slowly. “He wouldn’t wink at me, would he?” my voice was a bit wry, but she giggled like I told a joke.

Dean and I both agreed we’d better keep this relationship to ourselves. Some people around campus weren’t exactly friendly to this sort of sinful relationship and neither of us wanted to come back to our room and find the other bleeding, like we'd used to back when Zach was sure we were eating each other's asses up.

“Should I ask him out?” She asked worriedly and her grip on my wrist tightened.

From that moment on, Anna wouldn’t stop talking about Dean.

_“Is he as cute as he looks? He looks good in those jeans. Why are you smiling? Don’t laugh at me. Did you **see**  his jaw line? Ugh, he’s just  **perfect**!”_

I couldn’t get away.

“Oh!” she said suddenly after a long half hour of Dean-praising and huddled closer to me. “And his ass is  _amazing._ ”

I had to make great efforts not to laugh at that; yes, Dean’s butt was very nice. Firm, too - I knew from a short distance.

At some point of the night, long after Dean’s shift has ended and he’s already left, I slid a sentence into Anna’s unstopping chatter.

“Hey, it’s getting late. You want me to walk you to your dorms?” I asked, not very smoothly, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure! That would be nice,” she smiled.

Thank God.

When I finally entered our room, Dean was sitting on his bed and trying to read.

“How’d it go with Anna?” he asked without looking up when I hovered over my bed, trying to find something to talk about.

“Fine,” I blurted, but after a moment of thinking I added dumbly, “actually, it was horrible, she wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he looked up with a smirk. “Was it really that bad?”

“Well, yes,” I said and sat on the side of his bed. “It was boring,” I shrugged.

Dean threw his head back and laughed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to cover for my mistake, but my hesitant and regretful tone just made him laugh harder.

“You’re…” He struggled to speak between his uncontrollable giggles and his hand rose to pull my arm until I was just beside him. “You’re-“

I thought he was going to say  _an idiot,_ but he spluttered “adorable” and kissed me - which was probably worse, considering that I was a grown male.

“Stop it,” I mumbled against his lips, but he placed his hand on my waist, his other hand resting between my neck and my shoulder, and this time he kissed me for longer, and a bit deeper, until my head started spinning lightly.

“I-I’ve got this something I have to do,” I breathed, pulling away before I’d faint in his arms.

“No, you don’t,” he murmured with a smile and his lips pushed onto mine one last time.

He let me go, but as he shifted slightly on the bed my eyes caught something shiny under his pillow.

Was that…?

My forehead creased, and before Dean could stop me I leaned forward and snatched the knife from under his pillow, careful not to cut myself.

It was silver and engraved with symbols, its hilt wooden.

“Why do you keep a knife under your…”

“S’nothing,” Dean grumbled and took the knife from my hand.

“Dean…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly, avoiding my look.

“Fine,” I muttered and got up. I could barely hear his “wait-“ but I ignored it.

That night I had trouble falling asleep.

It was getting close to two a.m.; Dean was snoring lightly in his bed, fast asleep, but I lied with my hands beneath my neck, watching the ceiling with wide pupils. Most nights I’d be the one to go to sleep first, but as would sometimes happen back at home, this night my mind wouldn’t let me rest.

Involuntarily, I kept trying to reason Dean having a knife under his pillow. Obviously, it didn’t have anything to do with college. You don’t keep weapons in your room for protection in college. So it was about his past, his mysterious family business he wouldn’t talk about. But what in hell could be so dangerous for a guy less than twenty to have him armed even in his sleep?

I looked over at him, sleeping calmly in the dark, his chest widening and thinning under his body. I didn’t understand; he didn’t look dangerous, nor did he look like he was in danger. Other than his well-hidden but often-occurring strange behavior - and the weapon in his bed, and his vague stories about his family - he looked just like anyone else.

 _Well, maybe there **is**  something fishy about him, _I thought as I watched him sleep with his mouth open, drooling a bit on his pillow.

As my mind replayed all the times I've noticed something strange about him, I realized that it could’ve just happened that my bland, tasteless life has gotten in between a train wreck.

At that moment, Dean shifted in his bed and mumbled something unintelligible. It seemed to be just a dream, but after a few silent moments he flipped again.

“Sammy…” his hand rose and then dropped on the mattress. A few still moments, and then he spoke again, so loudly he woke himself up.

_“Sam - no!”_

I pulled my blanked over my chest and watched him with only the upper side of my face visible, trying to make myself unnoticed.

Dean took a few deep breaths and sat up. My eyes were already used to the dark and I could see his expression was shaken, but also weary in an odd sort of way. Like he was familiar with this scenario.

A few minutes passed, and Dean got up to wash his face and sat back down in his bed. He didn’t even seem to try to fall back asleep. I knew I was turning myself in, but I thought I’d better try to help him.

“Hey,” I murmured and rolled to my side so I could lean on my elbows. My voice was a bit hoarse. Dean turned to look at me.

“D’I wake you up? Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You didn’t,” I said. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly.

“Do you have them often? I've never noticed.”

“Sometimes.” He didn’t get into details.

“And then?”

“It just takes a while to fall asleep again,” he said with a shrug, and a crooked little smile spread on his face, as careless as he could make it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Is it bad?” I whispered, ignoring his attempts to pretend nothing’s wrong.

He looked away.

“Depends on your standards,” he said, still trying to preserve his airy tone, but I saw it in his eyes - it wasn’t as bad as I thought.

It was worse.

 He didn’t just have nightmares - I heard it. He was dreaming about his brother. Screaming his name.

“Come here,” I whispered in the same small voice.

“What?” he whispered back, though he understood what I meant.

I pushed the blanket up and patted on the bed beside me.

Reluctantly, Dean got out of his bed and slipped into the small space left in mine, his whole body pressing against mine so he wouldn’t fall off.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now you sleep,” I said determinedly, insisting not to make it too awkward; I knew this was a sign as clear as writing  _I'm sorry_ on the wall and I wasn't sure that was what I wanted, but there was nothing to do about it now.  _  
_

Dean let out a long sigh and carefully placed his head beneath my collarbone. No way in hell Iwould’ve fall asleep like that, but he was quiet, and after a few minutes I murmured, “are you sleeping?”

“Nope,” he breathed, and I felt the muscles of his cheek work into a smile against my chest. “But this is definitely better.” 

"Is it," I mumbled to myself incoherently.

"Cas?" He whispered after a moment.

"What?"

"We're okay, are we?"

"I guess," I shrugged. He smiled again.

"That's very reassuring, thanks."

I didn't answer.

"I don't like when you're yelling at me," I whispered after a while. His breathing was even deeper now, but I knew he didn't fall asleep. My arm hung loosely around his shoulders.

"I know. I'm sorry."

I gulped, surprised by his apology. "Me too."

His arm stretched to rest across my chest and he lifted his head to kiss my jaw. 

“What you said once about damaging your blood pressure?” he said with a huff of laughter after a moment. “I understand now what you meant.”

I gulped, blushing, as I realized he could easily feel my heartbeat under his cheek.

“Yes? I bet yours isn’t better,” I managed to spit out. To my surprise, that silenced him.

"'S just been a really long time,' aight?" He mumbled eventually, and my lips curved into a soft smile. 

 "More days than I could count," I whispered back, but he was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??????  
>  AHAHAH BTW when i say naomi's husband is hans i mean hans from frozen yepyep


	5. The End

 It was a cold afternoon in the end of October, in our second year of college. The day when it ended.

We were walking down the street on our way to the nice little coffee shop we’d go to sometimes, hats and scarves on, fingers intertwined.

“What are you so happy about?” Dean asked, watching my gleeful expression, his hand pulling mine back and forth repeatedly.

“It’s winter,” I said cheerfully. “It’s cold and it’s raining. What is there not to be happy about?”

“Well, first of all, getting wet,” he raised an eyebrow at me, but his face wasn’t too serious. “second, stop hopping.”

“I’m not hopping,” I argued and lowered the enthusiasm of my pace.

“You’re close enough to it. And third, there’s something else.”

“How do you know?”

 _“Because I know you,”_ he rolled his eyes and pulled me closer by the hand. “C’mon, what is it?”

“Alright, alright. Dad called,” I started, zigzagging my way across the pavement with Dean’s hand pulling me back every time. “He said I got a letter. Scholarship for the next year.”

“Well, obviously, you nerd,” Dean said, wrapping an arm around my neck firmly and kissing the top of my head.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” I protested and pushed him away, like I always did when he treated me like his girlfriend. I didn’t miss the look in his eyes though, bright and sort of… proud. My face flushed red involuntarily.

“Yeah, I know. I’m on a scholarship too, y’know.”

“I don’t know how you manage it. You never study and your grades are good,” I said with a frown and grabbed his hand again as we turned left at the end of the block.

“You’re smarter than me,” I said at the same time he said, “I flirt with the examiners.”

“Hey, that’s not true!” he protested, while I muttered, “good to know.”

“Sht’up,” he laughed as we walked into the shop. It was small and unpopular, quiet. Currently, there wasn’t anyone in except for us. At the counter stood a blonde, smiley girl whose name tag read “Rose”.

“Hello! What can I get you?” she called as we stepped in. She had a British accent, a sort that blocked the T’s when she spoke.

“One coffee, one hot chocolate,” Dean asked mannerly, without needing to ask me my order, and we found a seat. Dean took off his red beanie and I reached out to smooth his hair.

"That's great, y'know," he said after a quiet moment. "Your scholarship. You don't need the money, but you still don't give yourself up." A shade of expression changed in his eye and the softer look was back in it. "You work so hard."

My smile didn't reach my eyes as they dropped to the smooth surface of the table.

"I'm sorry it's not like that for you."

"Don't-" Dean started to say, grabbing my hand from across the table, but his voice faded as he saw the perky waitress approaching to serve our drinks.

“Dessert is on the house,” she said as she placed the mugs carefully on the table, adding deliberately, “for dates.”

She raised her eyebrows at us and shoved onto the table a little plate with something very chocolatey-looking in it.

“Everyone’s in such a good mood today, could think it’s Christmas Eve,” Dean commented on her cheerful smile with a small one of his own. I gazed at him for a couple of moments, hardly noticing the waitress and everything around us. He had the best smile, one that would light up his eyes and bare his teeth, no matter how slight it was.

“Well, I got a good enough reason to be,” her smile widened and she leaned closer to us. The color of her eyes was so dynamic, they seemed to have the whole galaxy inside them. “I’m going to see the doctor today.”

With no further explanation, she turned around and went back behind the counter, leaving us a bit confused and with a free dessert.

“So, uh…” Dean said, snatching my hat off my head as he tried to change the subject. 

“Your hat is still on.”

That day I went to bed early. I woke up in the middle of the night, confused for a couple of seconds, because I remembered going to sleep in Dean’s bed. He wasn’t there.

I reached out a hand and groped the sheets around me; they were still warm. He must’ve gone to the toilet, or he had another nightmare and was just washing his face.

I shifted on the bed and prepared to fall back asleep, when I heard his voice coming from somewhere behind me, at the farther end of the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” his whisper hissed across the room, coming out edgy and upset.

My mind was slow and a bit sticky, like syrup. I wondered who he was talking to, when another voice answered him.

“We gotta talk.”

I considered pretending to be sleeping and spying on him, but I’d probably fall asleep if I kept lying with my eyes closed. Better get up and check what’s happening.

“Dean?” I rolled to the other side of the bed and sat up drowsily.

“Cas, hey.” I followed Dean’s voice with my head and spotted him standing near the door. To his side was someone…

Taller. That’s all I could see in the dark.

I turned on the lamplight and stood up slowly, yawning and shortly inspecting the man.

Taller. Younger than us, maybe a year or two. Long hair. Quite handsome, though Dean beside him looked marvelous in bed head and bare chest.

“Sam, this is my- um, this is Cas.”

“Your brother, Sam?” I asked confusedly as my sleepiness wore off.

“Hey,” Sam raised his hand with a quick greeting. “ I gotta borrow your roommate here, talk about some private family business, but, eh - nice meetin’ you.”

I yawned again and was ready to offer my gracious goodbye, but Dean spoke up before I had the chance.

“No. whatever you wanna say, you can say it.”

We both looked at Dean, eyes narrowing slightly. When he'd talk about his brother his voice would usually hold a sadder tone, sorrowed, I recalled. Now, with his brother finally here, he looked angry.

“Okay…” Sam said. “Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“So?” Dean said and rubbed his face tiredly. “Probably at some dump drinking his ass off. He’ll stumble back in sooner or later.”

Sam ducked his head and chuckled to himself, then looked back at Dean.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip,” he said. “And he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

There was a short silence. Dean’s face hardened and his lips pursed. Finally, he spoke.

“Cas, excuse us.”

They went outside to talk for a few minutes. I tried to fall back asleep, but before I could manage that Dean showed up by the door again.

“Hey, Cas…” he entered the room and closed the door. His brother didn’t come in after him.

“I think we need to talk.”

“What’s going on?” I asked tiredly, sitting up in his bed. He stepped forward and sat down beside me solemnly, resting a hand on my folded knee.

“I… I kinda need to go. For a few days. Dad’s missing, y’know, and I gotta go after him.”

“Alright…” I said slowly, examining the serious look of his face. He looked back into my eyes.

"It's the sorta thing that can't wait, y'know," he said, his tone oddly deliberate. I stared at him for another moment, and then it hit me.

“Oh,” I said, gulping. “You mean, _now_?”

He nodded.

“Dean, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he smiled halfheartedly.

“You’re-you’re going to wait until it’s morning - are you?”

“It’s just for a few days,” he repeated, “so don’t worry about it.”

“But…” I grimaced.

“I have to go now. But don’t worry about it,” he repeated, making me edgier just by mentioning it again.

Realizing I’m not going to reply, he stood up and started packing a backpack.

He didn’t take much. It took him less than five minutes.

I was up and alert by the time he was finished, handing him his coat when he looked for it.

“Dean,” I grabbed his arm when he stepped away, and he turned to look at me. 

“Yeah?”

I had no illusions regarding what was going on -I knew it had to do with his family, and I was fairly positive that whatever it was Dean was talking to his brother about, it would explain every suspicious behavior of his since we've became friends.

“Is it-“ I huffed at his practical expression and started again. “Don’t lie to me. What you’re going to do - Is it dangerous?”

He looked at me for a moment, quiet.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually and looked down. “Probably. But don’t worry about it, Cas. Really.” He looked into my eyes again. “I’ve been doing dangerous my whole life. I’ll be back here in a week for the most, perfectly fine.”

I examined his face as he talked, trying to block the doubtful note in my tone when I spoke.

“If you promise.”

He smiled crookedly and his hand moved to rest against my lower back.

“I do.”

He leaned forward and kissed me, his lips crashing against mine, tugging, shoving, soothing, taking the breath away from my lungs ruthlessly. Meaning it like he hadn’t for a long time.

It hadn’t occurred to me at the moment that maybe he knew.

 

* * *

 

The first week was restless. I didn’t know what Dean was up to except that it was dangerous, and I had no other choice than to trust him to keep his promise.

People kept asking me about him. I hadn’t realized until then how everyone else saw us; when Dean disappeared they all came to _me,_ like I surely had the information to where he was. It was as if there was no one else to ask.

They all wanted to know where he went and what he was doing; nobody asked when he was coming back. Soon enough, they stopped asking about him at all.

Nobody waited. Except for me.

The first week was restless - but bearable. But then came the second, and the third, and then the first month, the second month…

There wasn’t much I could do. His phone was dead and I had no idea where he was going. He must have taken his laptop with him because I couldn’t find it, either. Nothing in his stuff indicated where he could be. At some point after the ninth week I thought about calling the police, but Dean left by choice, knowing his risks. There was nothing I could do.

I tried not to overreact at the whole thing. Dean promised he’d be back, and it’s not like my life revolved around him...

But I was too used to the sound of the door opening and his boots squeaking on the floor against his cheery greeting; the heat of someone lying beside me at nights. The company. His arms around me. His lips on mine. Our drawn out conversations. Holding hands on the street. Arguing. Fighting every week.

I didn’t expect him to come back for me. Or maybe I did; thought it was fair enough to wish for after all this time. But what really kept my hopes going were his things. He left everything here - his clothes, his CDs, his razors… everything except his car keys and his knife. Could he really just drop everything like that? Not come back even for his music, or the little box of family photos under his bed that he'd only opened once?

Eventually, I decided doing as best as I could to move on from waiting for him, although I never really gave up. I didn’t stop hoping. I just accepted the fact that he’s probably not coming back.

Things got worse with time. The constant state of trying to make myself move on but not wanting to; of trying to assure myself Dean was alright, but being scared to death he wasn’t; of worrying but not being able to do anything; of wondering what the hell happened, and that permanent sinking feeling that I was just overreacting with anxiety when those horrible images of possible scenarios floated inside my head.

At last, I had to take drastic actions to make sure I wasn’t going insane.

I called my brother.

I was sitting on the side of my bed, back straight, phone clenched in hand. I took a deep breath. Then I got up and stood by the window, straightening my sweater.

I dialed.

“Hello?”

My throat felt tight. I shouldn’t have called. What will I say? This call was pointless.

“Hello,” I managed to choke out eventually.

“Castiel? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes,” I assured him. “I was just… calling.”

“What is it?”

I fiddled with the end of my sleeve.

“It’s nothing. I…” my voice broke. “Luci, Can we talk?”

“Sure.” I didn't need to hear the edge of his voice to know he was more than surprised to hear from me, but it was still there.

I took a deep breath and sat back down.

“It’s Dean.” I hesitated, biting my lip. “My roommate. Eh - he’s gone. He went away with his brother and didn’t come back. I shouldn’t be worried - I mean, he can take care of himself. I’m sure he’s fine. But-“

I trailed off, gulping.

“But?” Luci asked on the other end.

“He promised me he’d be back in a week,” I choked out.

“How long has it been?”

It took me a moment to answer.

“Six months.”

There was another moment of silence.

“He’s gone for six months, and you say you’re not worried,” he said eventually.

“I - I am. I mean - I… I shouldn’t be. But I am.”

“How come?”

“I-“ my cheeks heated, though he couldn’t see the look on my face that was awfully giving my mind away. “We were best friends.”

When he answered this time, his tone was softer.

“I meant, how come you shouldn’t be worried?”

“He’s…” this conversation included too many subject I shouldn’t have talked about. I started regretting I ever called.

“He knew what he was getting into. He told me not to worry, but- but I knew it was dangerous,” I admitted. “And I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that he didn’t stay away because he’s hurt. I can't prevent myself from worrying, though." I paused for a moment. "Well, I mean, he's alright," I gulped. "I'm sure he's alright. I think I'm just overreacting - that's why I called." I let out a heavy sigh.

“This sounds pretty messed up, brother,” he said, and I felt a lump growing in my throat.

“I know I'm not making any sense..." I started, but couldn't think of an end to my sentence; I called to say I was worried about Dean, but then insisted he was alright. My brother must've thought I've gone insane. I couldn't explain to him that I was just lovesick. 

If you’ve got a feeling he’s alright, then maybe he just is. You have good instincts, that I know.”

“I wasn’t looking for your help,” I started, despising the weakness in my voice. “I just didn’t know who to call-“

“It’s alright,” he assured me. “But maybe you should think about this again,” he said. “Objectively, no stressing.”

I agreed, and was claimed to promise I’d call again if I needed to.

“I know we don’t talk much, brother,” he said before he hung up. “But I’m glad you called. I’m here, if you need me.”

“Thank you,” I said genuinely. “Tell Samantha I said hi.”

“Sure,” he said, and the line went dead.

I hung up and let my hand drop to my lap. Something rang in my head, like an old memory trying to break out. I creased my forehead at the bed behind me, positive that this memory had something to do with… Dean. 

It was Christmas - last year, when Dean came over. Dad took Gabriel and Luci to the airport whilst Dean and I remained home, alone since Naomi and Michael had already left the day before.

“Tell Samantha I said hi!” I called from my spot by the door step, watching Luci’s thumb rise before I closed the door behind me.

“Who’s Samantha?” Dean asked, resting an arm above my waist now that we were alone, as we made our way to the living room.

“His girlfriend,” I said, keeping my tone light, but Dean must’ve caught the spark in my eye, because he turned to examine my face more attentively.

“It’s nothing,” I said without him having to ask. “I’m just glad it’s going well for him. It’s the first time since…” my voice faded. I wasn’t used to talk about it, mention her name to someone who wouldn’t scowl at me or try to change the subject.

“Huh?”

“My brothers can be very… unpleasant, in their ways of taking care of things,” I mumbled. “Never mind.”

I could tell he was expecting more information, but I ignored him and picked up a photo from one of the library shelves.

“Here,” I said and Dean leaned over my shoulder to see better. It was a picture of Luci in the back yard of his house, hugging a tall woman with long brown hair and green eyes.

We've never talked about it again.

I realized with a bit of confusion that I was still sitting on the side of my bed with the phone in my hand.

Grace asked about him this year, I remembered with a smile. She asked if we broke up. Funny how the only person I could talk to about my relationship problems was an eight year old kid.

I sighed and stood up, grabbing some warm clothes and heading for the bathroom to take a shower.

 

“You have the subjects from last week?” Balthazar asked when I sat down next to him.

“Sure,” I said and handed him a couple of papers. It was a few minutes before class began that Anna and April showed, talking and laughing about something.

“What’s up?” April asked as she sat beside me, and Anna took a seat one row ahead of ours and turned around to face us.

"Nothing," I mumbled and turned to look at Balthazar, hoping to direct the conversation toward him. He was busy copying my notes, though, and my eyes dropped to the notebook in front of me.

“You’re thinking about Dean, aren’t you?” Anna said after a long look at me.

“What?” I blurted.

“You always have that expression whenever we talk about him,” she said. “Like you wish he was here. I’d know, I think about him all the time.” She looked down with a grimace.

“I miss him.”

I suppressed a snort. _Tell me about it._

“It’s not like it’s the end of the world,” April argued. “I mean, just another drop-out. It’s been half a year, are we gonna keep crying about him forever?”

A heavy sigh escaped my mouth.

“Just another drop-out, eh?” I mumbled sadly. “Tell that to his clothes in my closet and his pictures in the box under his bed.”

“What?” April looked at me with confusion.

“Forget it,” I muttered.

“Look, Cas, whatever this guy’s story, he’s not coming back- what?” She trailed off at my scowl. 

“Don’t…” I took a breath through my clenched teeth and continued the sentence as politely and softly as I could.

“Don’t call me that. Just… don’t.”

“Alright,” she shrugged and fiddled with her papers. I sank in my chair and waited for class to be over, then I could stop by that little coffee shop I'd used to go to with Dean. Rose, that lovely waitress, was still working there. Still incredibly kind, but not as happy as she used to be. Apparently, her doctor didn’t show up.

Once I got back to the room, equipped with a disposable cup of hot chocolate, I got to work. The room was incredibly messy and I had to clean it up, not poorly like I did last time but with some serious effort put into it. I started with the piles of clothes I'd never bother to pick up from the floor.

I was getting close to being finished when I knelt between the beds and scanned the floor, trying to see if I missed something.

Under Dean’s nightstand, between little clouds of dust, lay a small piece of paper I haven’t seen before.

I stuck my hand in the small space and pulled the note out, blowing on it to get the dust away and reading the sloppy writing in blue ink.

It was a phone number.

A phone number, next to Dean’s bed, covered in dust.

On another day, I wouldn’t try. 

Today, I dialed the digits and waited. I almost hung up when the beeps stopped.

“Hello?”


	6. All Right Now

“Hello,” I said, clearing my throat to steady my voice. My hand was shaking mildly, causing my fingers to clasp the phone tighter. “Sam?”

“Eh, hi,” he said, his voice a befuddled I-probably-should-recognize-your-voice-but-I-don’t tone.

“I-“ I said, but my voice just faded.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I started again. “It’s- it’s Cas.”

 _“Oh,”_ he blurted. “Oh. Hey, Cas. Wow. Good to hear your voice again. Um. You shouldn’t have this number.” He paused for a second, as if not knowing what to say. My lips sealed with distress at his mixed signals, but he went on. 

“Are you okay?”

“I know - I’m fine. I…” I tried to form a full sentence, but it was way harder than I'd imagined. What was I doing, calling this number? Dean's left and I had nothing to say.

“Dean…”

I couldn’t go on.

“Oh, Cas…” I heard Sam huff on the other end.

“Is he alright?” I managed to choke out.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Sam assured, throwing a ridiculously big wave of relief across my chest.

“Look… he’ll kill me if he knows I’m talkin’ to you. But since you called, I might as well make some things clearer.” He huffed again, troubled.

“God, this is fucked up,” he mumbled, and then, more audibly - “Look, he didn’t mean to leave you. He was gonna come back.”

I didn’t say anything; silent.

It couldn’t be. Any other thing, I’d believe. But this was exactly what I wanted to hear. Therefore, it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“Look, I know this is hard for you, and believe me, I've heard enough bitchin' to know Dean's bothered about it too, but it’s not his fault, alright? It’s the job. He couldn’t take the risk.”

“What risk?” I asked, my voice reaching a quivering note. 

“Cas, listen, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s not something to talk over the phone about. I wish I could-“

“Can I talk to him?”

“He can’t know about this conversation, Cas, I’m sorry.”

“Sam…” I expected him to cut me off, but he didn’t. I was left speechless, facing my own confusion of the conversation. 

“I really should go,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Just… one more thing.” I took a deep breath and tried to stabilize my voice.

“Is he happy?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“He talks about you all the time,” Sam said eventually. “He really didn’t want to leave you.” He huffed out a laughter. “Y’know, I didn’t realize about you two in the beginning. I was quite oblivious to the whole thing, and insensitive, too.” There was another short pause. “I only got it the third time he said he missed you.”

"He-“

“I really have to go now. Nice talkin’ to you, Cas.  And for your own good - lose this number.”

The line went dead.

My hand dropped into my lap and I swallowed motionlessly, trying to make order out of the chaos inside my head. Eventually, I decided there were two things that mattered within my conversation with Sam: 

First, Dean was safe. Second - he must've had a big load of guilt about me if Sam went through so much to try and make me feel better. 

I put the phone on Dean’s nightstand and lay down on his bed, not moving for a very long time, just letting everything wash through me until my shaking hands stilled and my mind was clear again.

At last, I heard a knock on the door.

“Castiel?” Jo’s voice cut through the silence. The door opened slowly and her footsteps echoed through the room. I sat up, opening my eyes.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” I said. My voice was a bit hoarse.

“Oh my god, what happened?” her eyebrows furrowed with worry and she rushed toward me.

“Nothing,” my forehead creased with the automatic response. My face _did_ feel weird though, now that she mentioned it. Like something stuck to it, or stretched the skin a bit.

“Why are you crying?” she asked and sat down beside me, resting a comforting hand on my back.

“I’m not-“ I started, raising a hand to touch my face, but my fingers hit something damp.

“Oh.”

“What happened?” she asked again and rubbed circles on my back with her palm.

“It’s nothing, really,” I assured her, but I could feel a lump forming in my throat now.

“Is it Dean again?” she asked softly. “Hey - don’t give me that look. I have eyes. I saw how you two look at each other.”

“Great,” I snorted, but my lips curved up. “And I thought we weren’t being that obvious. Is there anyone left who doesn’t know?”

“Try Mrs. Hudson from the shop down the street,” she said and we laughed.

We sat there for a moment, but after a couple of minutes her expression hardened.

“You’re crying again,” she pointed out.

“Stop it, would you? I’m not…” I closed my eyes, suppressing a sigh, then looked at her.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“It’s not…” I let my voice break. “I’m not sad,” I said finally. She wrapped her arms around me and I leaned my chin on her shoulder, a bit heartened. 

I hadn’t realized until talking to Sam that what I was really feeling all this time wasn’t exactly worry, or sadness, or anger. It was fear. Paralyzing, terrifying fear.

Knowing Dean was alright, all that was left now was missing him.

“It’s happy crying,” I murmured into Jo’s shoulder, my voice almost unintelligible. "I'm relieved. He's alright, and I'm just glad he is." I thought about my words for a moment, then sighed.

"I'm not sad," I lied. 

 

* * *

 

 

**One year later**

“Hey, Castiel, you joining?” Balthazar shouted at me when I passed by the volleyball court. He was playing three-on-two with Hannah and Uriel on his side, and Charlie and Frank on the other.

“We’re a little short on players,” he added.

“No, thanks,” I smiled at them and kept walking towards the dorms. 

Today was a good day.

I got a good grade on my last test and had pizza with Meg and Jo earlier. Luci called this morning while I had class, so I had to call him back. He was ringing every couple of months now, finding some important matter to discuss. I knew he was just checking on me, but I didn’t really care. Sometimes I got lonely, and the talks helped. 

I called Luci back as soon as I entered the room and unlaced my shoes. 

“Cassie! What’s the word?” he called over the phone with a cheery tone.

“It’s a… shortened version of my name,” I answered, bewildered.

He laughed. “How’s it going? You know what, I went to the bookstore the other day and found that book, it’s called _101 Ways To Torture and Seduce Unstable Moose Men._ I have no idea what’s it about but sounds interesting, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” I answered distractedly while I searched for last class’ assignment in my bag.

“So what’s going on?”

“Nothing, really,” I said. I still wasn’t used to this small-talk whole thing. “I went out today. I wasn’t really going out last time we talked, was I?” I smiled. “I’m socializing, see.”

“Good, good.” There was a short silence. “Anyone special?” he added after a moment.

“Nope.”

“Cassie…”

“I’m a busy man, you know,” I tried to joke. “I don’t have time for dates.”

Dean had used to like my jokes. He’d laugh and say I was adorable to make me mad, and then kiss-

“I think you should move on.”

“From what, exactly?”

“From him.”

For a long minute, I was silent.

“No,” I said eventually.

“Cassie…”

“Since when do you know?” I asked to distract him, though I didn’t really care anymore. So people knew, so what? If someone criticized me now for loving Dean, I’d probably just punch them in the face.

“The first time you called me about him,” Luci said in a tired voice. “You wouldn’t call if it was just about your friend.”

He was right.

“Look,” he continued. “It’s been, how long - a year and a half? At least try to move on. You don’t have to find a wife - or - a husband, whatever. Just… go on a date. Try something new. It’d do you good.”

I sighed.

“It won’t kill you, brother.”

“Alright,” I said eventually. We were quiet for a moment, and I started fiddling with the ends of my blanket. I didn’t really want to hang up.

“So… how is your new book?”

“Didn’t really manage to read much yet, but it seems interesting. The protagonist is someone crazy with really long hair - I think he’s called Samuel - and there was a scene involving the devil. I think he’s going to be a main character, too. I hope so, he seemed pretty cool,” he said in a certain tone and I knew he was smirking.

I asked him some more about the book and about his job, and told him to say hi from me to Samantha. We almost hung up when I came to a decision.

“Hey, Luci?”

“Huh?”

“Do you ever…” I paused, embarrassed. The question I had in my mind was far too personal, but I just… I had to know.

“Do you ever have second thoughts about Nicki?” I asked hesitantly, fiddling with the blanket edge again. “I mean, you did everything to stay with her… they didn’t even let you near the house and you didn’t care because-“ I stopped talking, realizing my voice was trembling.

I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Those two years I haven’t seen my brother were hard enough for me, and probably ten times harder for him.

“I’m sorry,” I said regretfully when he didn’t answer. “It’s just - sometimes I think about what if it happens to me, you know? And I-“ I had to gulp to stabilize my voice. “I can’t pretend now, brother, not after what happened. I can’t pretend he was just - just _some guy_.” My voice broke again.

“I do,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I do have second thoughts, or whatever you want to call it. But you know how it played out, Cassie, she didn’t want me. It didn’t stop me from wanting her.” He let out a long sigh.

“That’s why I’m telling you to move on. You need to stop feeling miserable-“

“I’m not-!” I cut him off.

“Cassie, if there’s anything I can offer you, is to learn from my mistakes,” he said. “And about Michael, or anyone else - you like dick, nothing they can do about it,” he said indifferently. “They wanted me to divorce, alright. But you can’t divorce dick,” he joked and I smiled.

“Alright?” he said sternly.

“Alright,” I repeated, still smiling.

 

I didn’t have much time to think about what Luci said.

I was on my way back from class when I saw April walking in the opposite direction, as I often did on Wednesdays. When she saw me she waved and crossed the road to where I was walking, smiling cheerfully.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“Just fine,” I answered with a shrug. I didn’t stop walking, forcing her to start walking in my direction.

“I was thinking…” she started, pulling at a strand of her hair. “Maybe we could… you know, get a coffee together sometime?”

“April, I don’t think…” I trailed off, watching her face fall.

I recalled my conversation with my brother the other day. I wasn’t sure he was right... But it probably wouldn’t hurt to try.

“I mean - I don’t think I have time this week, but maybe the next one?”

And so I found myself sitting in a crowded coffee shop with April in a slightly awkward atmosphere of you-wanted-to-date-me-for-three-years-and-now-you’re-a-rebound.

Never mind that, April looked satisfied. She told me about her sister, Tessa, and her job at “this super secret place that she never talks about, with a boss who looks like he can kill a man with a brush of his hand, you know?”

I nodded and sipped of my coffee.

“He’s all tall and thin and has this walking stick and he’s just creepy,” she shivered and I nodded again, pulling the edges of my sleeves and trying to look as interested as possible.

I was wearing one of Dean’s old sweaters and I hoped April wouldn’t notice it. After he disappeared I kept wearing the clothes he’d let me borrow, at first as a reminder, but at some point it became rather natural. I haven’t even realized it was Dean’s until I saw April and worried she might recognize it. I had a pretty solid picture in my head of the face she’d make if she realized.

“So what’s up with you?” She asked.

“I’m… better,” I said, not knowing what else to say, and regretting my answer immediately. Why couldn’t I say something that wouldn’t imply I was still broken about Dean?- because - I wasn’t.

“I mean - I, eh, I’m good.”

“What are you doing lately?”

You mean, besides staying in bed all day, watching Marvel and reading Star Wars fanfiction?

“Eh… just studying, mostly.”

“Ugh,” she blurted and rolled her eyes. “Let’s not talk about studying.”

“Agreed,” I chuckled.

The rest of the night went mostly horrible. I mean, I really did try being a cooperative and sensitive human being but it was hard to keep up with April, not to mention saying the right things at the right time, asking enough questions to seem interested, talking enough to seem focused but not too much to be boring… God, talking to people was exhausting.

Eventually, my salvation came.

“Walk me to my room?”

I looked up to see April’s hopeful smile.

With April, though, it seemed like no matter my people skills, I couldn’t say something wrong.

“Sure.”

We walked down the street back to the dorms, tightening our clothes around us against the freezing wind. At some point, her fingers slipped between mine. It felt a bit weird, and sort of nice, to feel someone else’s warmth on my skin. I didn’t pull my hand away.

“So… this is it,” she said with a small grin when we got to her building. “It was fun.”

“Yes,” I said reluctantly. She examined my face for a few moments, looking a bit hesitant. At last, she freed her fingers from mine and put her hand on my shoulder, using it to pull me closer and kiss my lips.

I froze, surprised, and stared at her pale eyes.

“Good night,” she murmured with a timid smile, and without waiting for an answer she turned around and walked away.

 _Well, that wasn’t a complete failure,_ I thought as I walked back to my room. I tried to tell myself that kiss made me feel something, but I couldn't.

 _Should've just asked Fergus out instead,_ I thought to myself with a sigh. The stories went far as for what was in that guy's pants. 

The place was a mess, as it usually was. It felt nicer that way. Once I’d clean up every few weeks, the fact that only one person lived here would become way more obvious.

I changed clothes and brushed my teeth quickly. It didn’t take more than five minutes to get into bed and twenty more to fall asleep, April’s breath still fluttering on my face, but eventually I slipped into warm, welcoming unconsciousness. 

The next thing I felt was my body flying in the air, until my back hit something forcefully.

When I managed to open my eyes I saw a blurry figure standing in front of me, pinning me to something that had to be the wall. The room was dark, and it took my eyes a few seconds to focus.

I was standing in my room, my back against the wall, a tall man with fair hair leaning over me. One of his arms was pushing my chest back, the other hovering over it.

A couple more seconds, and I realized what was pressing cold against my throat.

He was holding a knife.


	7. But It's Better If You Do

“Um… hello.”

The man looked at me with narrowed eyes. By now my eyes have gotten more used to the darkness and I could see the rest of the room almost clearly with the dim street lights coming from the window.

Someone had obviously looked for something in the room, pulling Dean’s blanket off the otherwise untouched bed and shoving clothes out of the closet. According to the complete mess of the place, my guess was he didn’t find what he was looking for.

“I take it you don’t want my jewelry?” I said, straightening my right arm and carefully moving it across the wall. 

The man growled. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said innocently, although I did have one name in mind. One name which I’ve always wondered what’s so dangerous about. And as it seemed, I was deep in the process of finding out.

 _Great,_ I muttered to myself.

“Winchester,” the man barked into my face. Now that my eyes have accustomed to the darkness, I could see his features more clearly. I had to admit he was handsome, his hair a grimy blond and his face chiseled-like, chest and arms muscled under his shirt.

“Oh, come on,” I moaned, stretching my hand further. My fingers groped against the smooth surface, useless. “What is it with you guys, always showing up in the middle of the night? Can’t you set a meeting to a more convenient time of the day?”

“Stop playing games,” he rumbled and his knife pressed harder against my throat, making my skin sting with sharp pain.

“Look, hot guy, I appreciate the effort, but Dean hasn’t been here for over a year.” The quivering of my throat when I spoke made the knife chafe unpleasantly against it. My arm started to hurt with strain, and my babbles weren’t going to last long enough. I started to grasp the meaning of it; this man didn’t seem to be hesitant to kill.

“I have information,” the guy said slowly, a small smile crawling onto his face. “That this room has something he cares about.”

“The CDs are over there,” I pointed with my head at the closet, trying to shrug. If I could just hold him back a bit longer...

“You know,” he said, sliding the knife across my throat slowly. “I’m known in Hell for being a good torturer. And I’ve got all night.”

“Well, I’m known in Heaven for having a really nice bottom,” I said and closed my eyes tiredly.

I was finished. I had no idea what Dean has gotten me into, but that was it. I felt something wet and hot flowing slowly down my collarbone and despite all my efforts, I was too far from any kind of weapon or way to defend myself.

“I know he was here,” the man said, his knife still moving against my throat, and I felt every cell slicing. “So why don’t you just tell me and I’ll let you go?”

“Look,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. It hurt so much to talk, I felt tears collecting behind my eyelids. “This is very romantic and all nice, and believe me, I wish reality was that easy,” I stopped to breathe, the pain preventing me from talking for a few seconds. “But he’s gone. And - he’s - never…” my voice trailed off as I opened my eyes and saw the man’s eyes.

Completely black.

“Coming back,” I finally finished, my voice barely a murmur. My eyes shut and my mind blurred, willingly losing consciousness and awareness of pain. I heard the man inhale, preparing to talk, but then something slammed hard behind him. The press of the knife loosened against my throat and I opened my eyes to see what happened.

The homicidal man was looking back, still holding the knife close to my throat. At the door, which slammed against the wall loudly, a tall figure was standing, holding a knife of its own.

For one moment, everything was still. His hand rose automatically to touch the light switch, as naturally as if he’d just gone to get some milk.

There was the sound of a quiet click and the light turned on, making the room finally visible. The bright light blinded the three of us, but Dean was first to react. He stormed across the room and ripped the man off my chest, stabbing his knife into him before he could react.

Free at last, I slid to the floor stiffly. The stabbed man lied on the floor, his body flickering with orange lights for a moment. Then he went still. It was peculiar, unnatural, but I was too giddy to question what I’ve seen.

Once Dean was free of killing anyone, he turned his attention to me. His eyes scanned my loose body leaning lifelessly against the wall. When his mind registered my injuries, he rushed and knelt down beside me.

“Cas,” he murmured quietly, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. His hands fluttered around me but never touched, as though he weren’t sure what to do.

“Hello, Dean,” I mumbled back fuzzily.

He looked down at my throat. “You’re hurt,” he said worriedly. He looked around for a moment, then grabbed a T-shirt that lay on the floor and wiped my neck carefully.

“Am I going to die?” I asked weakly. My head throbbed and my words came out fainter than I meant them to be.

“No,” Dean said, a snort of laughter cutting through his wistful expression. “It’s just a cut.”

“Oh,” I furrowed my eyebrows. I examined his face. “Then why are you sad?”

“Stop talking, you idiot,” he snapped, but his lips curved up. “You’re only makin’ it worse.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. I didn’t ask him where he’d been or what he’d done, and he didn’t say, just put a bandage against the base of my neck and attached it to the skin with tape.

“C’mon,” he said and stood up hastily after a couple of moments. I touched my wound, but it was wrapped up and protected under the pad, and hurt much less than it did before.

I took Dean’s extended hand and pulled myself up.

“Dean-“ I started, but he interrupted me.

“We gotta talk.”

“Clearly,” I replied, rubbing my sore neck. It felt like an hour since I woke up, but it seemed like only a few minutes have passed.

“Sam is waiting in the car,” Dean continued. “I need you to come with us.”

I stared at him for a long moment. His eyes stared back intensely.

“Explain,” I asked eventually.

“I will. In the car.” He looked at me impatiently, his eyes bright and wide with urgency. “We really don’t have time for explanations right now, Cas.”

“Well, do you have time to explain the dead body on the floor?” I asked and gestured at the man that lay behind him, my tone leaking irritation. I haven’t stopped to think how surreal my question was.

“He was dead long before I stabbed him,” Dean mumbled with a sigh, as if it was not of import.

“Look, it’s dangerous for you to stay here,” he took a step toward me so that we were standing face to face. “And I need you to come with us until we figure something out.”

“So, what,” I said, my voice becoming somewhat bitter suddenly. “Leave everything and disappear, like you did?”

Dean’s lips thinned into a long, narrow line and his eyes closed.

“Yes.”

He obviously felt guilty, but I couldn’t take the harsh note out of my tone.

“Say I’ll be back in a couple of days?” my voice cut through the silence hoarsely. My throat started to throb with pain from all my talking, but I ignored it.

“I had every intention to come back,” he answered through set teeth.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” I said insistently, turning my back on him and folding my arms.

“Cas,” he pulled my shoulder rigidly and forced me to turn around and face him.

“Dean, I have a life in here-“

He put his palms against my cheeks and leaned in until his eyes were at the same level as mine.

My voice faded.

“Do you trust me?” his eyes stared deep into mine. His fingers were warm and firm on my cold skin.

“I…” I gulped. “Erm. I… do I?” I stammered, not being able to concentrate on his words.

“Alright,” he huffed and leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “Fair enough. You wouldn’t trust me to listen to you, or not flirt with the bartender, or - or, probably, to keep my promises now, but,” he let out a sigh and opened his eyes, his intense gaze catching mine again.

“Would you trust me with your life?”

“Um,” I bit the inside of my lip. “I guess?”

“You can’t just say yes, can you?” he muttered as he let go of my face and yanked my hand.

“C’mon, we gotta go. But first, I want my sweaters back.” He opened the door of the closet and started digging for his clothes.

“Sure,” I muttered as I dropped my bag on his bed and started shoving my clothes into it. “Get your fucking sweaters.”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, troubled.

“Look, I get why you’re angry,” he walked into the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush and throwing it in my bag, then yanking it off the bed and placing it on his shoulder.

“I just don’t understand why we have to do this now,” I called after him as he grabbed the dead man’s foot and pulled it after him into the hallway. I grabbed my phone and my keys and hurried out after him.

“I don’t see any more scary men walking around. And are you planning to just walk around with a dead body on the street?”

“Sam’s waiting right by the back entrance. And believe me, they catch you unprepared.” He lowered his voice as we crossed the hall and went down the stairs, the man's head bumping onto every one of them as Dean pulled him forward only by the leg.

Outside, in a spot in the parking lot closest to the dorms building, waited a very familiar vehicle with the engine working. A shadowed figure was in the shotgun seat.  

Dean opened the trunk and pulled the man inside with one swift movement, then handed me my bag and opened the back door for me, closing it behind me when I slid in and hurrying to the driver’s seat.

“What’s up, Cas?” Sam turned around to look at me.

“Hello, Sam. Nice to see you.”

“You too.”

“What did he say?” Dean asked as we left the parking lot. “That guy, tell me exactly what he said to you.”

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, pouting. I tried to recount the conversation, rubbing my sore neck gently every few minutes.

“…And, I said, ‘I take it you don’t want my jewelry-“

“You asked if he wants your _jewelry_?” Dean burst into laughter, Sam huffing a laugh by his side.

“I was trying to get to the nightstand lamp,” I pouted.

“And?” he asked, trying to restrain his laughter.

“I didn’t make it.” My frown deepened. Dean laughed again, but didn't say anything furthermore. When I finished my story his expression was a slight frown, knowing it was his time to talk.

“Well?” I asked eventually.

“Well,” Dean grumbled, his eyes locked on the road. He was serious again, wearing his I’m-driving-and-I’m-pissed-so-I-refuse-to-look-at-you expression that he used to use on me quite a lot the last summer before he left - eyebrows furrowed, lips puckered and a frown not leaving the road. I hated that look.

“We can talk when we get to the motel. It’s not exactly a car talk.”

“You said you’ll explain in the car,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm, but I was becoming more and more irritated. “And here we are.”

“Fine,” Dean muttered at the road. “Sam, a little help in here?”

“He’s all yours,” Sam snorted. “I don’t want him thinking I’m completely nuts.”

“Great,” Dean huffed. I glared at him, my fingers fiddling with the ends of my shirt.

Here I was, at four a.m., riding with Dean in my pajamas, and just about to find out about his big secret he went through so much trouble to keep from me.

And with all of Dean’s delaying, I was probably going to fall asleep before he opens his mouth.

He struggled for words, speaking again only after a few long moments. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to stay open minded here, okay?”

I hummed decisively as a confirmation, struggling to keep my eyes open and on him.

“So here’s the deal. Monsters. I know this is hard to digest, but…”

 

“Cas?”

The next thing I noticed was the sound of footsteps.

I groaned and rolled over.

I was in a bed. Not my bed.

At once, everything came back to me.

“I’m awake!” I stated in a mumble and sat up, my eyes still half-closed. “You were saying?”

“I was saying, you dumbass,” Dean hovered over me and handed me a disposable cup of coffee. “That you should’ve listened when I told you to wait until we get to the motel.”

I took the cup and blinked a couple of times, until the room got clear.

I was sitting on one in the line of three narrow beds, in a room as small and stifling as it could be.

Dean went and grabbed a chair from beside the small table by the entrance which Sam was sitting by, placing it beside my bed and sitting on it.

“No, not that,” I mumbled, confused. Before? After?

“Before that,” I decided.

“Monsters,” he simplified.

I took a hesitant sip of my coffee. “What?”

“That’s what I was talking about,” he explained patiently. “Ghosts, demons, vampires, wendigos, rougarus, djinns, werevolves…” He gestured with his hand. “Whatever you like.”

I stared at his face for a long moment.

“Should I be worried?” I asked slowly at last.

“Well, yeah, they’re monsters,” he shrugged one shoulder.

“That’s… not what I meant.” My eyes jumped between him and his brother alternately. 

Dean glanced behind his shoulder at Sam, then back at me. “I’m not making this up.”

“He ain’t,” Sam added from his seat by the door. “They’re all real.”

I stared at them as if they’ve gone completely nuts, but they just stared back.

Apparently, this wasn’t their first time explaining.

 

Dean showed me the world.

He took me places I’ve never been, showed me things that my ears wouldn’t believe, things my childhood was filled with stories and legends about. Everything someone could ever wish to see, and not to see.

Seeing everything, seeing the world as it really was - was a terrifying, yet oddly exhilarating experience. Eye-opening. Amazing, and frightening.

I was stubborn, though. Dean took me to see creatures almost every night, yet it took me a couple of weeks to start believing what he said to me that night.

To be accurate - it happened one late night, when we got back to the motel after another _hunt._

Dean was eating his dinner by the table, Sam lying on his back in one of the beds. I was sitting on the floor with my legs folded, my hand hovering above a fanged, still mouth.

“We need to get rid of that thing,” Sam pointed out tiredly.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed and turned to me. “Will you stop poking that poor dead vamp’s face and come eat something? You’ve been doing that for, how long, seven minutes?” he drew a French fry out of a pile and bit it. “You’ve already checked his fangs, dude.”

I pulled the lips up one more with the tip of my finger, and my eyes jumped to the shallow bite marks on Dean’s neck.

“They’re real,” I mumbled, my voice full of wonder.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean lifted an eyebrow and took a big bite of his cheeseburger, his full mouth blurring the words as he added, “Now leave the dead body alone.”

I stood up and went to sit by the table.

“How could it be possible?” I murmured with a frown.

“Why not?” Dean asked, shrugging. “Listen, don’t think about this too much…”

“But… how does it work, this hunting thing?” I asked, ignoring him. “Do you have a leader? How many hunters are there?”

“It’s kind of a more personal business, every one works on their own-“

“But why don’t you tell anyone?”

“You think they’d lis-“

“How come nobody notices? Does the government know? Is there, like, a monster organization - like Shield, or Torchwood?”

“Is that what you were doing when I was gone? Watching TV?” Dean glared at me from across the table.

“No! But why-“

“Dude,” he cut me off. “I’m glad you finally see the light and everything, but I’ll explain everything later, ‘aight? First thing-“ he raised a finger when I opened my mouth. “We gotta give you some training. You need to be prepared.”

“Training? Is that some sort of a code name?” I asked. “Am I supposed to defeat a werewolf with my bare hands or something?”

Dean turned to look at Sam, giving him his _did he just say that?_ look. He’s used it very often lately.

Sam shrugged.

“What?” I asked. “I don’t know how this thing works.”

“Alright,” Dean huffed out an irked breath. “I’ll teach you the fighting, Sam will show you his magical research methods. We need to get you some fake IDs, a new phone, some monkey suits and a tattoo.”

“A tattoo?”

Dean pulled at the collar of his T-shirt to reveal the familiar black ink on his skin. “Anti-possession tattoo,” he grinned. “Keeps you demon-free.”

I looked down at my body with a grimace. “I don’t like tattoos.”

“Well, that’s a shame-“ Dean started to say, standing up and crumpling his paper bag into a ball.

“I didn’t say I won’t do it,” I said.

He turned to look at me.

“Good.”

He started walking toward the bathroom, but I reached my hand to pull his wrist.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.” He turned around expectantly.

“…Alone?”

We both looked at Sam. He stood up swiftly and headed for the door.

“I’ll be, eh, pretending to do something outside.”

“You know what, Cas,” Dean said abruptly. “Let’s take a walk.”

Dean grabbed his leather coat and we headed out, throwing away all the empty beer bottles that gathered in out room the last couple of days while we’re at it.

“So what did you wanna talk about?” Dean asked once we were outside. I strolled quietly, considering my words.

“Still waiting, if you were wondering,” he said after a couple of minutes, looking at me. 

I let out a long sigh.

“It’s been almost three weeks,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied carefully.

“I just - I feel like we’re both trying to avoid it, but we have to talk.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk again. “I don’t know where we stand.”

Dean looked around at the street. “Niles. Fremont.”

“Shut up,” I smiled and hit his arm weakly as we entered a wide street with tall palm trees on one side of the road and short buildings on the other.

“Look, Cas,” his eyes rose to rest on my face and he shoved his hands into his pockets like he'd used to do. Something fizzed in my stomach, made me edgy, like I already knew he was going to throw some excuse.

“I wish things were different,” he said, his eyebrows curving in a pleading expression. “I’m sorry, I really am-“

“I don’t want your apologies,” I said coldly.

“Then what do you want?” he asked desperately, still looking at me as we walked.

“I waited for you,” I finally snapped. “I’ve waited for _months._ Do you have any idea how worried I was?” I glared at him, eyes glossy. I realized we stopped walking and were standing still on the sidewalk, in front of an old antique shop. Dean stared back at me, his eyes big and helpless.

“Saying you’re sorry isn’t going to do much good now,” I continued, my tone hard and cold. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

“If you want to go, I don’t think I’m entitled to make you stay. Dean, I don’t deserve you.” My voice became quieter. “But if there’s anything I do deserve, it’s an explanation.”

Our eyes stared into one another, weary and desperate and longing for comfort.

“You’re right," he huffed. “Where do I started?” he mumbled dejectedly and started walking again, compelling me to follow him.

“Well, I think by now you’ve already figured out a coupla things.” He glanced at me shortly.

“If you are talking about the fact that you’ve been a hunter way before you met me, and that is why you’d keep a knife under your pillow, wouldn’t talk about your family and never trust people you didn’t know, then yes, I have.”

He nodded gloomily. “That night, when I left, was the first time I’ve talked to my brother in a long while. I told you the truth back then; our father went missing, and I went to help Sam find him. I knew it was probably gonna be dangerous. I also told you that.”

“You-“

“Hey,” he cut me off. “Lemme finish.” I made a face, but didn’t say anything.

“Sam told me it looked like it had to do with the hunt dad was currently busy with, but I didn’t know,” he rubbed the bottom side of his face with his palm.

“I didn’t know it was about demons - about _those_ demons.”

“What’s special about them?” I asked.

“They were working for one named Azazel,” he answered with a long exhale. “I don’t know what my dad got himself into, but it was some serious business with Hell.”

“How bad can it be?” I said with half a smile.

He looked at me, his eyes deadpan. “It wasn’t an expression. I meant literal hell.”

I studied his face for a moment, doubtful, until my mind recalled something I heard the day Dean came back...

_"I’m known in hell for being a good torturer._

I let out a loud puff. 

“Ah, great. There are monsters, demons, and now there’s hell. What’s next, heaven? Let me guess.” I held up a finger. “Angels?”

Dean snorted. "That's ridiculous. There ain't such thing as heaven. If there’s one thing I know, angels don’t exist.”

“Well, then, no angels. Continue your story,” I asked. We were walking for what felt like about half an hour now, strolling past short buildings and tall trees, shallow hills on the horizon. Dean pulled his hands out of his pockets and his arm was constantly swinging beside mine. I had to resist the urge to reach out and catch his fingers, an urge I was successfully fighting for three weeks already. I didn’t want it to get awkward between us in case this wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

“Apparently Azazel was responsible for my mother’s death,” Dean went on. “My old man searched for her killer my whole life, since I was four. Now he and his stupid ass decided to go after him.” He turned his head away and looked at the line of cars that stood in parallel to the sidewalk across the road.

“Did you find him?” I asked quietly. “Your dad?”

“Yeah, we did, eventually.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. 

“We weren’t there when the demons caught up to him, though.” His jaw tensed. Dean was still looking away when I felt a warm hand sneaking into mine. It was hesitant, loose, allowing me to let go whenever I wanted.

“After he died, we went after Azazel. We had all the information, we were trained, and there were two of us. We took him down, but,” he turned to look at me with half a smile and an ironic chuckle. “The chain never ends, I guess. That Brady dude decided to avenge his spiritual father, or some sort of that bullshit. I thought he was stayin’ low, but he was going after you. Realized that a bit too late.” His wistful eyes dropped to my neck, where a faded, pink scar was stretched.

“Not too late,” I smiled. “You still saved me.”

His sad expression became a more cheered up, sarcastic one. “I thought you were handling the situation.”

“Oh, the demon?” I looked at him naively. “Yes, I got him. I meant you saved me from college life.”

“I forgot how much of a chucklehead you are,” he laughed. I was quiet for a moment, a strange sort of a warm feeling spreading in my chest as I held his hand and listened to his laugh again.

“This hunting business sounds pretty annoying, though,” I said. “That demon came after you because you killed the other demon, which killed your father, who was trying to avenge your mother’s death? That sounds like a never-ending loop.”

“It is, pretty much,” he snorted. “Anyway, that’s the whole story.”

I walked beside him quietly for a couple of minutes.

Eventually I stopped walking, forcing him to halt too.

“You really couldn’t just call?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet so it wouldn’t break.

“Cas, it’s already taking a risk for a hunter to contact someone they care about, but we were in the middle of this mess with the demons…” he turned his eyes from me to the ground, kicking some small rocks on the pavement gently. “Those monsters we take care of are the kind of ones that go after you if you mess up and let them." His lips curved into a soft, sad line. "And you were wondering why I have no friends.”

He didn’t say it, but I understood myself. We talked about it years ago, one of the first days we knew each other. Dean said he never had friends until the last year of his high school, and I figured it was because his family moved so much. Now I realized, he could make all the friends he wanted in just a few days.

He was staying away of them on purpose.

“I couldn’t risk contacting you,” he spluttered, scattering my thoughts. His eyes were agonized, as if he were silently pleading with me to forgive him. “You can ask Sam. I did what I had to do, Cas. I’m sorry.”

"It's alright." I squeezed his hand lightly. “I think I understand.”

“So… are we cool?” he asked hesitantly, then huffed and creased his forehead. “That’s not... that's not really what I wanted to ask.”

My eyes rose to meet his. We stood still for a moment, looking at each other. At last, I let go of Dean’s hand and swiftly wrapped my arms around his neck, sinking my face into his chest. God, I forgot how much I’ve missed this, the warmth of his body, the feeling of his hands tightening around me; how his mere presence could make my chest fill with warmth.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he murmured into my ear. The ends of his hair brushed my temple.

“Well, I _guess_ I can try to get over you trying to keep me safe,” I raised my head and smiled at him, leaning my chin on his chest. “Honestly, that’s sweet.”

"sweet?" He pouted at me, but I could tell he was holding back a smile. "That's all you got?"

The hint of a smirk in his eyes disappeared when I rose to my toes and leaned my face against his. 

"Yes," i mumbled onto his lips. "About what you meant to ask, yes." My only further explanation was closing my eyes and  _finally_ pressing my lips onto his in that certain way that could only really mean one thing.

Dean's arm wrapped around my waist loosely and his lips moved against mine, a  _yes_ that could only answer all those times I struggled to keep my hands for myself, all the halfway movements toward him. A Yes to all those times we almost touched, Yes to the question I've spent three weeks trying to ask. 

_Did you miss me?_


	8. Ghost Town

The next morning we went to a local clothing store - the fancy kind, with a sign that had a small “men” under its name.

I hated those.

“C’mon, you hate leaving your room,” Dean claimed, trying to encourage me. “This shop hasn’t done you any wrong.“

I gave him the driest look I could make. “I hate fancy shops.”

“It won’t hurt you to get some presentable clothes,” he patted my back and walked through the door. “C’mon.”

“Yesterday you called them monkey suits,” I frowned while I followed him into the shop.

The front of the store had racks of pants and buttoned shirts. The racks in the back had suits, and in between there was a coat section. Dean scampered around, pulling clothes out of the racks, but I just glanced around for a while. Then, hesitantly, I turned toward the coat section.

“You like it?” Dean asked, appearing behind me.

“I think so,” I said hesitantly, squinting at the beige trench coat I’ve been examining for the last three minutes. “Maybe.”

“Put it on,” he encouraged. I turned to look at him, then lowered my eyes to the bundle of clothes in his arms. I stuck my hands into the pile and pulled out some clothes, then grabbed a coat from the rack without checking its size and approached the fitting room.

“Show me how it looks!” Dean called after me when I entered.

“Yes, mom,” I called back and closed the door. The cell was quite spacious, with a small bench at its corner and designed hooks on the wall. I got dressed as fast as I could, not wanting to spend there more time than needed. When I finished dressing up I opened the door and stepped out, looking around uncomfortably. Sam was strolling between racks at the front, halting near the jacket section. Dean was sitting on a bench outside my cell, gazing at the air.

“Well?” I asked, drawing his attention. He turned to look at me, back straightening and hands moving restlessly once he saw me, his tongue ghosting over his lips.

“How does it look?” I urged.

“Good,” he spluttered, his eyes wandering off before they landed on my face. “Yeah, good.”

I turned around, facing the mirror. The suit fit just fine, but the coat was too big. It looked clumsy and awkward, but it was warm and I liked how it felt over my clothes.

“Hold on,” Dean mumbled behind me and disappeared, showing up a moment later with something blue in his hand.

“What’s that?” I asked and turned around. Dean straightened the fabric in his hands and raised them to wrap it around my neck, arranging it between the layers of my shirt and my coat. He wrapped the tie around itself a few times, pulled at the ends of it, and then adjusted it neatly and stepped back and looked at me.

“That’s better,” he nodded pensively. I examined the blue tie in the mirror, flipping it to one side and then the other.

“I like it,” I decided.

“Good. Well, undress, tiger,” he patted my back vigorously. “We’re getting outta here.”

After we bought the clothes we went to a tattoo shop - a surprisingly cheerful one, with bright-colored walls and framed photos hung on them - and got me an anti possession tattoo, before heading back to the motel.

“Where’s your phone?” Dean asked once we were back inside our room.

“Here,” I answered and plucked it out of my pocket. “Why?”

“You need to replace it. Sam, we’ve got a spare one, right?”

“Sure,” Sam said. He opened one of the duffle bags that lay on the floor and started digging in it.

“I’ve used it the past three weeks,” I scowled. My hand rose automatically to rub gently at the top of my arm, where my new tattoo was placed below my shoulder.

“It’s traceable,” Dean answered shortly while fiddling with his gun.

“Nothing is chasing us,” I protested. “Why do I have to replace it?”

“You don’t. It’s called precaution.”  He extended his hand.

It wouldn’t matter that much, I thought - I couldn’t call my friends and wouldn’t call my family - but one name popped into my mind.

“Fine. But let me call my brother first.”

His eyebrows rose with a hint of surprise, probably wondering for what reason would I want to contact one of my siblings.

“Luci,” I explained, somewhat reluctant. I didn’t particularly want to share with Dean my occasional crises about him. “He’s… started calling, occasionally. I want to let him know."

“Alright,” he said. “Call your brother, and _then_ we’ll burn the phone.”

I was already entering Luci’s number, but when Dean spoke my eyes rose to his face, perplexed. “What?”

Dean gawked at me with confusion for a moment, and then let out a loud laugh.

“We’re not really gonna burn your phone, dumbass,” he said, his tone warm. “God, I’ve forgot how literal you are.”

 

“Yes, yes,” I mumbled. I stopped listening to him and continued to type the number on my phone. “You too, pumpkin.”

I pressed the ‘call’ button and put the phone against my ear, waiting to hear the beeps. After a moment, I started pacing around the room. It was spacious, with three beds, a cheap dining table and chairs, and a congested washroom, just like all the other motels we’ve been to. The light blue wallpaper here was nicer than the yellow flowery one in the previous room, though.

The consistent beep of the phone broke after three rings, and a clear voice replaced it.

“Hello?”

My back straightened instinctively. It’s been only a few weeks since we talked last, and when we’d talk, Luci was usually the one to call. Will he assume something had happened? Should I tell him it did? I should’ve thought of it before I called. I cursed myself silently and tried to decide what to say.

“Hello,” I blurted eventually.

“Castiel? Is everything alright?” he asked, catching the note of tension in my voice.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I reassured him, sitting down on the bed closest to me. Dean and Sam were sitting quietly across from each other by the table, Sam working on his laptop. Dean’s unfocused eyes were gazing into the air and I suspected he was listening to me, or waiting for me to hang up.

“I just… called, because… um, I’m changing my phone number.”

He didn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he asked, “to what?”

“…to what?” I repeated, glancing meaningfully at Dean. He raised his palms helplessly and threw a glare at Sam, who shrugged innocently.

“Um… I don’t know. I - I’ll call you. Sometime. Quite busy these days, you know.”I let out a nervous laugh.

“Alright, then. How are you doing?” he asked, not picking up on my tension. “You sound better. Did you take my advice?”

 _Advice? What advice?_ I tried to recall our last conversation. Luci has found out about Dean, we’ve talked about Michael and… oh _._ That advice _._

“Um,” I mumbled, standing up and walking in the opposite direction of the table, turning my back to Dean.

“Yes. Yes, I have.”

“And?” he asked after a brief, surprised pause. He didn’t believe I’d actually listen to him, I realized. 

“We went out,” I mumbled, trying to keep quiet. I just made up with Dean, and this was probably not a good time to tell him I went out an kissed another girl. 

“How did it go?” Luci asked cheerfully. I considered my answer for a moment.

“Not so well,” I determined eventually. “I don’t think I’ll see her again.”

The room was silent except for the sound of my voice, and although I was doing my best to keep it low, I was pretty sure that Dean and Sam could hear me. Who knew - maybe Dean wouldn’t be offended, or angry. Maybe he’d be _jealous_.

“Well?” Luci asked after a bemused pause - which I suspected had to do with the ‘girl’ part - encouraging me to keep talking. “What happened?”

“Er, I… some… thing. Something got in the way.”

He kept quiet, waiting for me to explain.

“Forget it,” I said.

“Well, at least you tried.” He paused skeptically. “You did try, did you?”

“I did,” I answered honestly. Well, I sort of tried. I tried my best after almost two years of not socializing. Kind of.

“Good. That’s good.”

I fiddled with the ends of my sweater. “So how are you?” I tried to change the subject.

“Just fine. You know, the usual,” he answered, and I could hear him shrug idly over the phone like he did whenever he didn’t know what to say. “Naomi was here this weekend. We took Grace to the zoo.”

“Oh. That’s great.” I tried to block the wistful note that clung to my tone. “Good for you.”

“Yeah.”

“I probably should go,” I said, doing my best to sound cheerful again. “You know… college business.”

I wish I could say I felt bad for lying to him. I didn’t. My family was broken and riven - and I wasn't any better than them.

“Alright,” Luci said over the phone. “Call me some time, brother.”

I hung up and let out a long sigh, letting my hand drop. My phone dangled between my fingers loosely.

I stared at the blue wallpaper for a while.

I didn’t feel bad. I felt empty.

“You okay?” Dean mumbled behind me, laying a hand on my arm. 

“I was just thinking,” I murmured, my throat clenching as he rested his chin on my shoulder. His arms wrapped mine all the way down, our fingers intertwining.

“About what?”

I hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal, but Dean voiced an encouraging “hmm?”

“I am just troubled by how easy it is for me to lie to my family.”

Dean pondered, his breaths pushing out his nose in small huffs.

“I didn’t know you were chatting with your siblings,” he answered casually.

“Yes, well, some things have changed while you were gone,” I muttered and freed myself of his grasp gently. I shoved my phone into his hand, mumbling, “I’m done with that,” and approached my bed.

Sam was gone, and I let out a sigh. I hated driving him out like that. 

“Hey,” Dean called and walked over to stand by my side. “I thought you weren’t mad at me.”

I zipped my backpack open, shoving my hand into it to look for the ointment for my new tattoo. It was almost shining black against the red skin around it, dull ache still burning the nerves.

“I’m not,” I answered Dean. “I’m sorry. I’m just upset.”

His lips curved down and he gave me that awful, childlike look, the irresistible one. It used to be my favorite thing.

“So what’s with the cell phone?” I asked to distract myself. Grace was still wandering in my mind, circling gray images of Dean’s bright eyes.

Dean sucked in a breath, ready to start talking, and I watched his expression change. “Apparently, we don’t have a spare,” he said in an accusing tone. Something about his irritation with his brother for not finding the spare phone - or for handing him the wrong gun, or touching his laptop - has always made me smile. They’ve hunted monsters all their lives, lost so many people together, and still their relationship stayed so typically brotherly. It was beautiful.

“So I’m gonna dump this one and go get another,” Dean continued, walking past me and towards the door and smoothly grabbing his coat from the back of a chair on his way.

“See ya later,” he said and disappeared behind it. I heard him calling his brother outside, and sat sluggishly on my bed. A few moments later, Sam showed up at the door. 

“Hey, Cas, you got a minute?” He asked and sat down by the table. 

“Sure,” I stepped over to his side and took a seat next to him.

“Research?” I asked, knowing Dean had commanded him to help me with it.

“Yep.”

He opened the internet on his computer and typed out a few words.

“Okay, so we usually start out by finding a job. Searching for something on the newspaper, checking out freaky accidents on the web, stuff like that. This time we got lucky, found another job in Fremont.” He grabbed a newspaper from behind his computer and placed it in front of me on the table.

The first thing that caught my eye was the picture on the front page: a gloomy graveyard within tall fences, a few trees scattered around it. The headline read, **_Mysterious Deaths At Fremont Cemetery Last Week._**

I leaned in, grabbing the corner of the page with my fingertips absently, and read the information below the headline.

_Over the last couple of months, three deaths have occurred inside the cemetery property. This went unnoticed by the police and the citizens, who were kept occupied by the Biting Killer Mystery which was resolved this Monday. Despite the police’s lack of attention for the case, it has not gone away. Two bodies were found last week, each one on a different day, with no seemingly relation. Police chief Gwen Cooper says…_

I raised my eyes and looked at Sam’s face.

“Alright. This is odd,” I admitted.

“What’s strange about it?” Sam asked in a guiding voice.

“Uh…” I gripped the paper again and threw another glance at it. “Well, mainly, the numerous corpses in such short time.” Then I took a more thorough look at the article. “Another thing is the centered killing. Five bodies in one graveyard. And the lack of connection between the victims.” I looked up at Sam, who nodded with satisfaction.

“And, well, the fact that it’s a cemetery,” I added, and Sam’s face turned blank.

“How do you mean?”

“There are hundreds of people buried in there, and some people tend to leave there things, you know, like jewelry, or a note.  And it’s quiet and isolated, too. It’s practically heaven for ghosts, isn’t it?” I said, a pleased smile spreading on my face when I realized the pun in my words.

Sam’s forehead creased as he pondered my words. “We’ve never had a graveyard ghost before.”

“Really?” My eyebrows furrowed in response as I reconsidered my suggestion, which sounded silly now.

“Yeah. I wonder why’s that. Anyway, the next level is trying to trace possible suspects - it could be someone who passed away recently, or a ghost that shows every specific number of years…”

I tried to concentrate as Sam explained about the next levels of research - making sure you’re hunting the right species of monster, finding the one you’re looking for and tracking its location. I couldn’t stay focused for long, though, and it didn’t take long for my thoughts to start wandering.

Sam was a big guy, and a very clever one, especially considering his young age. He was tall and broad, with a light tan and flowing brown hair that frequently got in the way of his vision, and he had to brush it away often. He had a way about him - the only indication he was Dean’s little brother and not his older - he had the most genuine face, the most innocent smile, and the way his face would beam made him look childlike, a feature he shared with his brother.

Although he was four years younger than me, Sam felt more like an older brother to me than anything else. All he’d done in the past weeks, except for hunting with Dean, was watch over me, teach me about hunting and answer my unending stream of questions - which Dean seemed to get tired of quickly.

“Hey, Cas?” Sam’s voice became suddenly amused. “You listening?”

“Yes,” I answered absently and turned my attention to him. He huffed out a laugh, as if I were acting funny. As it seemed, I’ve missed a question.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, his expression shifting as he tried to look more solemn.

I threw a glance at him. His eyes stared back at my face. My eyes dropped to the floor.

“Stupid things.”

“Well, Dean is the expert in stupid between us, but I’ll be happy to help if I can,” he smiled.

I pursed my lips. “Is hunting… always like that?” I asked eventually. “Always on the run, always paranoid, having to leave the people you… care about?”

He examined my face for a long moment, seeming to wonder about something, but he let it go.

“Well…” he started, pondering my question. “We’re not always on the run. Usually, we’re the ones to run away from,” another slight smile lit his face. “Most times it’s not so dangerous. I mean, Dean has lived out of this life for around two years. But we gotta be careful. Almost every interaction we made with… normal people, ended terribly. You are an apt example.” He shrugged, but when he saw I wasn’t convinced he continued.

“Cas, I don’t think you understand.”

“I do,” I protested, my eyebrows rising, but he ignored me.

“Hunters don’t just sign up for this job. Usually, you become a hunter because you lose someone to this world. Our father started out to avenge the demon that killed our mother. Our uncle, Bobby, had to shoot his possessed wife. We have to make sacrifices.” I looked at him as he spoke, my eyebrows lowering back to their place and my mouth shutting slowly. I could tell he knew what was bothering me. 

“I mean, sure, the last couple of years have been much more intense, because of all that Hell business. Brady was the last of Azazel’s supporters, and hopefully things will calm down a bit now. But being a hunter - and the longer you are, more things will come after you - means leaving everyone you love for their own safety,” Sam continued. “Abandoning them is the only way to make sure they’re safe.” His eyes looked deeply into mine, emphasizing the meaning of his words. 

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

“Do you people always sound so dramatic?” I asked eventually, with an apologizing twist of my eyebrows for the mock.

He snorted, as if I said something improper, and tapped the keyboard of his laptop, the screen lighting up with the touch.

“Only when it comes to scaring people,” he answered and started typing again. 


	9. Dead Or Alive

My feet were fixed stable on the damp soil, supporting the rest of my body and giving it balance. My eyes were focused on a wooden round board dozens afar from me, both my arms stretched in front of my chest, aiming for the red dot.

“Your hands are quivering,” Dean pointed out indifferently.

We were standing within sparse woods, somewhere near the city. Dean was watching me with deep concentration, his lips pulled down to his funny grumpy expression, one fist covering his mouth.

“I’m holding them up for over an hour, pumpkin,” I reminded him as calmly as I could, adding my new favorite nickname to show him the irritation that my voice had concealed.

“You’re the one who wanted to keep practicing,” he commented as I tried to concentrate on aiming the gun between my palms.

I sighed and ignored him, squinting slightly as I steadied my left hand with my right and pulled the trigger.

The loud bang wiped out all my other senses, but after a moment I could see clearly again and raised my eyes to look at the target.

“Not bad,” Dean observed as he examined the bullet that stuck in the wood, right around the red spot.

“Not good enough,” I asserted and steadied my posture again, unwillingly lifting my weary arms one more time. We were quiet, both concentrated on the weapon, until Dean’s frown deepened and his hand dropped.

“You ain’t doin’ it right,” he grumbled and walked over to where I was standing.

“Oh, really? I was wondering why I didn’t hit the red mark,” I snapped, but didn’t move otherwise, for he stood behind me and placed his arms against mine, supporting my jaded limbs. He pressed his arms against mine in a way that lifted them slightly, and then loosened his grip.

“Try now.”

I huffed at the distraction of the warmness radiating from his skin and tried to focus on my mission.

This time I hit within the red borders.

“See,” Dean called with a grin and took a step back. “You’re fine.”

I sighed and lowered the gun defeatedly. The thought of the long ride back to the city and the uncomfortable bed in the motel made my limbs groan with relief.

“What’s with the case?” I asked as Dean walked past me to grab the target board.

“We got all we could. We’re ready to go.”

I wasn’t as updated as I was a couple of days ago, when Sam had finished tutoring me about research while studying the case. Since then I spent most of my time in the forest, shooting at wood boards with Dean and learning how to protect myself from various sorts of attack. I was still proud of my theory, though, which none of the Winchesters has thought of. We were about to go to the cemetery and try to find the deceased’s belonging which kept the ghost here, like I suggested.

“So are we going tonight?”

“Yep,” Dean answered and passed by me with the board between his arm and the side of his chest, continuing to walk towards his car. I followed him idly.

The target board fit into the trunk scarcely, pushing the stock of weapons to the sides.

We got into the car, Dean turning on the radio on as soon as the engine started.

“Hey,” I complained when he pressed on the tape button, breaking _Kashmir_ off. I hit the radio button again.

“Dude,” Dean protested. “AC/DC.”

“You can listen to that later,” I pouted as he started driving, the car making its slow way between the trees and out of the forest. I saw his eyes roll from the corner of my eye.

He was reluctant at first, but a couple of minutes into the song, my eyes caught his fingertips tapping silently on the wheel to the rhythm of the music. The next minutes went by quietly; Dean pressed the tape button as soon as the song ended. I watched the landscape drift past us, my mind wandering.

Things were finally falling into some kind of order; Dean has taught me how to fight with blades, empty handed and with a few different sorts of firearms. I desperately hoped that this was my last day of practicing, because I didn’t like it, even though Dean was impressed with the outcome of my training. 

Dean seemed to want things to go back to how they’d used to be, and I did my best not to make things awkward between us. I didn’t want to be mad anymore.

Besides, I didn’t like all those blushes and stammers. When I kissed him, I didn’t want it to be rushed or embarrassed. I hoped it didn’t have to be - not anymore. 

We were continuing, not starting again.

As the car rode out of the forested area, the view changed dramatically. The trees gave way to the concrete and moved aside to clear a path for the road, and more and more houses and small buildings surrounded us as we neared the city.

“Fill me in,” I asked, and Dean obeyed.

 

It was past midnight when we parked in a dark spot near the cemetery. Dean grabbed a rock salt gun, an iron crowbar and three flashlights, handing us out the flashlights and giving me the crowbar, while Sam informed us fluently about the case.

“So we think we need people who died recently, right? Well, I haven’t found any sign of an object that was left behind - that we’ll have to look for on our own, but I did get all the names of the people who were buried here in the last four months. “

He led the way into the graveyard, Dean and I following gingerly, scanning the darkness around us.

“Sam, search for the object. We’ll cover you,” Dean's hiss carries across the silent night. Sam nodded and slid one step farther into the field.

“Aren’t you going to use your EMF thing?” I asked Dean, the dark and menacing field of motionless stones pushing my voice lower into a whisper.

“That place’s loaded with dead people, honey,” Dean answered in a hushed, entertained tone. “EMF meter’ll work only too well.”

Sam walked around cautiously, examining the writings on the stone graves.

“Four dead people, except for the recent victims,” he continued. “We better start with them, unless anyone sees the object.” Dean nodded in approval, and Sam went on to naming the deads.

“Donna Noble, age eighty four. Melanie Stryder, around sixty, I think. Melody Pond, she was just a child. Ianto Jones-“ he trailed off, noticing the sound Dean and I had just perceived.

The following whisper was so low, I couldn’t tell which of the brothers uttered it.

“On your left.”

A second later, I realized it must’ve been Dean, because the force that shoved Sam fifteen feet back violently took him completely by surprise.

Once he landed on the ground and the image was still, I could see a short figure, its long hair dull orange in the light of the moon, standing over him.

“Sam!” Dean shouted and ran toward him. I was closer to him, though, and with one long step and a swing of a bar, the figure was gone.

Dean and I hurried toward Sam, huddling around him.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asked, worried, but not shaken. This must’ve happened a lot.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Dean extended his hand and Sam grabbed it and yanked himself up, stretching and grunting.

“Anyone got a clear look at the ghost?”

“It was small,” Dean informed. “A girl, I think.”

“Ginger,” I added, and realization struck in Sam’s eyes.

“Melody,” he said. “Melody Pond.”

We continued walking, reading the words on every grave we passed by and continuously scanning our surroundings for the girl. Dean’s shotgun was already pointed at the air, and I held my crowbar tightly in my hands, tense.

The next time it hit, though, there was no warning.

For all one knew, it could’ve been the wind. Dean flew away from my side, hitting a tree forcefully. Sam and I both scanned the darkness around us as we approached Dean, pupils wide as we tried to locate the ghost.

“Did you see anything?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

Dean struggled to sit up, and I knelt beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “But I think it got my arm.” He took his palm off his right arm, where a big wound drizzled blood down his arm and onto his elbow.

“Take the gun,” he ordered and shoved the shotgun at me with his healthy hand. “I can’t use it now. C’mon, let’s get it over with.” He stood up heavily, using my shoulder for support.

“Dean, I think she went invisible,” Sam said when we were both up, eyeing the deserted field.

“Crap,” he muttered. “What are we doing?”

“Looking faster?” Sam suggested, his eyebrows pulling up.

“Isn’t there any way to… expose it?” I asked, shooting a glance around us. The thought of someone watching me without my knowledge made the nape of my neck prickle.

“No,” Dean started, but his teeth thumped together and his face curved into a frown. “Except…” his eyes shot to Sam’s inquiring face.

“Sam, you remember that hunt in Los Angeles?” he looked at his brother expectantly, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

“The horror movie? Tara Benchley?”

Sam squinted and his eyebrows furrowed. “You think a camera would perceive her?”

There was a sudden _whoosh_ and our heads shot toward the noise.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” Dean said in a low voice, shrugging.

Sam picked the crowbar off the floor and started walking again, Dean and I striding alertly behind him. Dean held his phone in his hand, recording.

It was quiet for a while. Dean turned around as he walked, trying to capture every angle surrounding us with the camera. Occasionally, he directed the camera to my face. I stuck my tongue out when he did, and he smiled.

“You think it’s not working?” Sam asked eventually. We’ve covered almost half of the graveyard lot already.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, but as he shrugged, the camera pointed at the field of vision behind me, his eyes froze on a certain spot, widening.

“Behind you,” he called. My gun was pointed at that general direction before he finished talking, and I took a shot.

“Did I hit it?” I asked, my heart racing in my chest.

“Lefter!”

I changed my angle to the left, and shot another rock salt bullet.

“Is it gone?” I panted.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. I turned around, my face carved with deep irony as I looked at him.

“Lefter?”

“Oh, shut up,” he pushed my shoulder with his good arm. “I shortened.”

“Guys,” Sam urged, and we continued walking. The attacks of the spirit increased, and we advanced faster and faster, until I had to jog lightly to keep up with Sam’s long stride. There was hardly any identification to the gravestones anymore, just blurred first names as we passed by them and searched for a familiar one. _Rufus, Charlie, Bobby, Karen._ Dean shouted. Another shot. _Meg, Benny, Ash, Jo._

“Over here!” Sam called finally, and we huddled toward a distant gravestone.

It was between the tombstones of Jimmy Novak and Andrew Gallagher. Sam bent over, grabbing a piece of dark fabric from the ground beside it. I leaned forward, examining the thing while Dean illuminated it with his flashlight.

The fabric was dark green, with a yellow writing in its center. _River._

I was probably the only one who felt bad for Melody Pond’s parents, who will come here to see their leaf-like reminder of their daughter has disappeared.

“Burn it,” Dean ordered, and Sam plucked a lighter out of his pocket.

 

The fingers around the side of my neck were warm, moving restlessly, gentler atop the wound at the base of my neck which would still hurt occasionally.

My fingers were careful too as they made their smooth way up Dean’s arm, skipping the injury below his shoulder.

The room was quiet, but in my mind there was a raging sound. Dean’s skin filled my ears with the loudest quiet, his lips shoving and tugging at mine made my pupils see bright images against my shut eyelids. His hands were all over me - pushing up between my shirt and my skin, reaching for the zipper of my jeans - while mine were occupied with the buttons of his shirt.

He mumbled something unintelligible, and I grunted into his mouth. Our tongues were a mess, hot and restless against one another, until my mouth broke away from his. The soft touch of his lips replaced with the taste of his rough stubble, my tongue stroking the skin of his jaw and lower toward his neck. My hands were pinned against his shoulder blades as I pressed my teeth onto his neck, sucking and smoothing the bite with my tongue. He let out a groan, his fingertips clutching the hairs at the nape of my neck.

The touches and strokes of our bodies sounded so loud in my ears against the drumming silence of the room, that I hardly heard the door open. Nonetheless, the voice that followed was unmistakably _there._

“So get th - oh.” The last part of Sam’s attempt had an embarrassed note to it.

I spun around rapidly on Dean’s thighs, our mouths breaking apart. Behind me, Sam was standing by the door, his mouth open mid-sentence.

For a moment, we all just stared at each other. My hands were still on Dean’s back, and his fingers rested loosely on my neck. Then I stood up swiftly, Dean following me once he was free of my weight, buttoning his shirt back. Sam covered his eyes partly with his palm, trying to avoid the sight.

“You’re getting a room of your own, _today_ ,” he muttered. With a swift movement and a blush, I realized my fly was still open and zipped it up. Dean nodded solemnly, clearing his throat as Sam moved awkwardly into the room and closed the door.

“So, uh, we ready to get outta town?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, shaking the moment off.  “Just gotta make a quick run to the bank.” He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair and patted Sam’s shoulder, taking the card Sam handed him in response.

“Cas, you comin’ with?”

I nodded, glancing down to make sure I still had my shirt on as I followed Dean out the door.

“What do you need to go to the bank for?” I asked while we walked toward his car, opening the driver’s door for him to get in. “All your credit cards are fake.”

“Exactly,” he snorted. “Needa cancel the real ones, so we’re harder to track.”

The ride to the bank wasn’t long, but Dean was hardly said anything while driving. He stared at the road, deep pondering spreading on his face, opening his mouth only once.

He inhaled, readying to talk, and our glances crossed.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t explain.

“Never mind.”

A moment later, he placed his hand on my knee, looking more content when I covered it with my own. I let the subject drop.

The bank was quite crowded, but not too dense. We stood in line, four people ahead of us. Dean still looked like he was trying to decide something, when eventually he shifted to stand closer to me.

“Hey, Cas?”

I turned my face to look at him expectantly again.

He hesitated.

“You remember that thing, about your brother?” he asked eventually.

“What thing?” I asked.

“Well, it was the first Christmas we’ve spent together - you said he’d done something that upset your family, and that they punished him for it? You said they can be cruel, or something.”

He looked at me as my eyes widened with wonder; I had no idea how he could remember something I’ve mentioned over three years ago.

“Well…” I started. “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged, his eyes locked on mine with curiosity. He was holding my hand, I’ve only now noticed, swinging our intertwined fingers between our bodies. Acting as if we were alone, but I saw people stare at the corner of my eye. Dean’s stare was difficult to look away from, though, and I figured I might as well speak.

“It happened ten years ago, give or take, when Luci started dating this girl.” A smile crawled onto my face, as I could finally look at the situation without pain and comprehend how ridiculous it was. “He was around my age, already living outside the house. And he was a complete idiot.” I could see it in Dean sometimes, my brother’s recklessness. He’d used to go to parties, often getting drunk and being hungover during the next day’s classes. He only barely finished college with a passing grade, despite his sharp mind.

“Michael - being a respected business man by that time – and Naomi, only starting to establish a family, were already quite sick of his shit by that point." The ends of Dean’s lips curved up at the sound of my expression.

“So,” I continued more solemnly when we stepped forward in the line, only a couple of people left ahead of us now. “They were completely fed up when he dropped out of college and married that girl he’d dates only a couple of months.”

Dean snorted, and my lips curved up in an absent, dull smile at his expression.

“Why would they care?” he asked. “Did him hooking up with that chick affect them that much?”

I took a moment to think about that.

“It damaged their reputation, I guess, their honor.” But after thinking for another long moment, I rephrased my answer. “No, I think it’s more than that. They wouldn’t let someone in their family do that. They didn’t _want_ someone like that inside their family.”

“Huh, what will they say when I’m gonna put a ring on you?” he said in a low voice and bumped his shoulder into mine. I snorted, coming up with an answer about another ring and something to do with his butt, but I continued my story instead when Dean asked,

“What did they do?”

“Michael turned his back on him.” I let out a sigh as we moved forward in line. We were up next. “Dad was having a hard time, being outside the house most of the time, and Michael took charge on most things in the house. He cut Luci out, wouldn’t let us see him.”

Dean frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “Can he do that?”

I met his gaze, shrugging. “Can’t he?”

It was our turn, then, and the conversation cut off abruptly. I didn’t talk when we were finished with the clerk and Dean didn’t ask furthermore, although he still wore a deep frown as we made our way out.

It wasn’t until we were midway to the door when he looked up. Nothing in his airy posture changed, but I felt his fingers clasp my hand tighter.

“What is it?” I asked, scanning the room. It took me a moment to see what he’d noticed, and once I have, I did my best to change nothing in my casual stride.

There were a man and a woman standing on each side of the exit door, their shoulders tense under tight clothes. Something about them was intimidating, I guess, but I wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t turn halfway around that moment.

“Look at her ass,” Dean said in a low voice.

“I don’t think that’s the right time-“ I started, but he cut me off.

“Just look.”

I looked.

It was almost unnoticeable under her dark clothes, stuck between her pants and shirt – a small bulge.

My eyes jumped across the room, dancing to the beat of my throbbing heart, seeking another threat.

“A robbery?” I asked, my voice barely a mumble. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he stared into the air. He sniffed, making a face. Then, as he opened his mouth, his eyes locked with those of the man at the front.

For one still moment, they examined each other’s faces. Then Dean muttered one word.

“Sulfur.”

The man turned to the woman beside him, signaling her with his head. With one swift movement, she drew the pistol out of the back of her pants and shot a bullet at the ceiling, while the guy sealed the exit doors with an iron chain.

“Everyone down on the floor!” She shouted in a clear, steady voice. Dean yanked my arm down, forcing me to sit with everyone else. I looked around swiftly again, grasping the situation.

The room looked much more spacious with the illusion of the lessened mass of the people in it. From the back of the room, another woman was pacing idly toward the pair at the front. The three of them scanned the crowd.

“What are we doing?” I whispered hastily.

“I don’t know,” Dean muttered. “Depends on what they’re looking for.” We both turned our eyes toward the demons.

“I think they’re looking for someone,” Dean said, squinting. “But not us. They saw us. Is there another hunter in here?” his eyes bounced across the room once again while his hand slid under his jacket, pulling a silver flask out of his pocket.

“Take this,” he shoved the flask into my hand. “Holy water. I’ve got the knife.”

“Knife?” I asked, grimacing. “Are we planning to stab them?”

“We probably won’t have another choice,” he said gravely.

“But…”

“The people inside are either dead, or wish they were,” he cut me off. “There are at least fifty people in this building. We’re not taking chances.” He gave me a meaningful look and changed his position so he was leaning on the tips of his toes. “I’m gonna try to get more information.”

“Hey, don’t you dare,” I grumbled and gripped his wrist when he tried to stand up.

“We don’t have time for this, Cas,” he muttered. “Someone ought to make a move before people start getting hurt, and of all people here, I’m the one who’d make it out with minimum damage. And, y’know, I’m the prettiest. It’d be easier to distract ‘em.”

I huffed discontentedly, letting go of his wrist.

“Alright. Hold on.”

“What?” he snapped, pouting. “’M not getting any younger here.” We glanced at the demons again – the women were still by the door, talking mutedly. The man was scanning the crowd more thoroughly.

“Holy water won’t harm a regular human, right?”

“Right. Try to see who they’re looking for.” He stood up and started walking toward the man.

“Hey, dude,” he said in a loud voice, catching pretty much everyone’s attention.

“Sit down,” the demon barked at him, but he continued to walk leisurely, looking perfectly at ease as he nonchalantly shoved his hands into his pockets, where his knife stretched the leather.

“Look, man, I gotta pee,” he shrugged apologetically. I looked around the room, searching for some way to be helpful. Around seventy or eighty people were kneeling or sprawled tensely on the floor. When my eyes reached the lady-demons, though, I found there was only one. Trying to track the other one, my eyes caught her sight at the front of the back corridor, walking towards the vaults room, or maybe the bathroom.

Did demons pee?

I shook my head and started crawling slowly on my knees and palms toward her, clutching my holy water flask tightly in my left hand. Dean was still bugging the other demon, and I hoped he’d keep it occupied long enough to give me any chance of succeeding in my mission.

I was almost ten feet away from her when she noticed me, putting on a fierce expression. I stood up and took a gulp of water from the flask, trying to spread it around my mouth, and let it drop from my loose grip. The humans around me looked muddled, some huffing with confusion.

“What’s your problem?” the demon asked, jerking her head toward me.

“I… eh…” I stepped closer warily, until she was within reach.

“You tryin’ to get punched? Trust me, it’ll hurt your pretty face.”

I pursed my lips, sliding a small step closer to her.

“No, no, I just wanted…” I trailed off. My mumble forced her to lean forward so she could hear me better; now we were close enough.

“I just wanted to give you a kiss,” I said in a similar murmur, using her surprise to pin her against the wall with my weight and press my lips tightly onto her. Her shock replaced with a whimper as the remains of water in my mouth burned her skin, and she shoved me off her body and flinched away. I tried to get closer again but she took the opportunity to thrust her arm against my chest, shoving me a few inches backwards until my back hit the wall.

“Don’t mess with things you can’t handle, kid,” she snarled at me, and her free hand lifted to lock around my throat.

“What do you want?” I groaned under her tight grip. “Why did you come here?”

“Kevin Tran,” she growled at me. “Is ours.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. At the corner of my eye I saw Dean approaching me quickly, knife in hand and face bruised.

The demon tightened her grip at my throat and I clenched my teeth, trying to hit her with the rampant movements of my arms. My throat throbbed with pain. My chest ached as my lungs struggled to get fresh air. My eyes wandered off, locking on Dean’s, and he threw something toward me.

I caught it instinctively, feeling a sharp sting in my palm as I did.

My eyebrows furrowed. _Oh._

I grit my teeth once more, fighting to keep my field of vision from blurring as I threw the knife in the air and caught its haft. I settled the knife against her chest, pressing slightly to make myself clear, but she didn’t flinch away. Behind her, Dean’s eyes screamed at me as he continued to jog toward us.

I didn’t have a choice.

I looked her in the eye as I thrust the knife into her body, watching as she finally let go of me and collapsed to the floor. After a moment, I was down there beside her, panting. Dean appeared above my head, kneeling down.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. You okay?” I felt a hand on my back.

I tried to nod. It felt like a couple of minutes before I could breathe normally again.

“C’mon,” he urged when I stopped panting, and I took his extended hand and yanked myself up.

It was only when I was standing that I noticed everyone was still crumpled in their place on the floor. And then I remembered – the other lady demon.

“Dean…”

“I know.”

She was pacing back from the hall that moment, her hand clasping a young guy’s arm. He was shorter than her, age eighteen or nineteen maybe, with long black hair and a terrified, confused expression, his arms locked around a stone tablet.  

The demon walked confidently into the room, taking a few moments to grasp the new situation.

Her eyes landed on the man’s corpse first, skipping promptly away when she realized what had happened to him, and stumbling upon the woman’s body.

She let go of the kid’s arm, seeming to forget he was there. Her widened eyes stormed across the room, looking for the person responsible for the deaths. It didn’t take long – we were the only ones standing, only a few feet away from the dead lady demon.

The demon let out a fierce growl, bolting our way. Swiftly, Dean slid to his knees and grabbed the knife from the floor behind me, then straightened back up effortlessly. He stepped forward to meet the woman, wrapping his arm around her stomach and arms gracefully and pressing the knife against her throat in one swift movement. She struggled, but he pinned her in a secure grip.

“Here’s your chance, honey,” he shot at me, his teeth clenched as he tried to concentrate on keeping the demon in place. “Recite an exorcism to save a life.”

I huffed, fists clenching, and tried to recall the Latin chant.

“Exorcizamus te… omnis… immundus spiritus…” my eyes narrowed as I concentrated. The demon howled dully, her limbs twitching. I continued, satisfied with my success as her eyes turned black.

“Omnis satanica pote…” what was that? It sounded like potatoes. “Potet… potestas… omnis asinum…” No, that wasn’t it. The demon swayed restlessly, black smoke coming out of her mouth and back in again.

“Omnis un…in… incurso…..” my mind was blank. I did my best to recall the words, but I took too long. She took the chance of my hesitation and left the body with a swirling strand of smoke.

Dean cursed under his breath, dropping the knife. He adjusted the lifeless body in his arms and carefully settled it on the floor.

“Dean,” I said as he checked the woman’s pulse. “The demon I killed was talking about someone. Kevin Tran, I think.”

“Yeah, I know. Mine also mentioned him.” He gestured with his head toward the back corridor, where the boy with the tablet still stood, frozen. Most of the others were already out the building, telling who-knows-what to God-knows-who. “I think it’s that kid. Go check on him.”

I went.

Kevin Tran was an advanced placement high school student who the demons were seeking for a long time. He didn’t know why the demons wanted him, or what was the purpose of the tablet he was guarding. All he knew was that he had to keep the tablet safe.

I didn’t know what any of that meant, and when he made a run for the door while I was looking at Dean, I let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus christ that make out scene was so gay
> 
> About the exorcism scene, this is the translation for Cas' mistaken reciting: https://translate.google.com/#auto/en/Potet%E2%80%A6%20potestas%E2%80%A6%20omnis%20asinum
> 
> Also, I posted a [new destiel fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5351948) and it'd be awesome if you checked it out! thankyou .3.


	10. It's Never Too Soon For Jesus Christ

“I’m sorry.”

The smell that drifted out of Dean’s bottle of beer prickled in my nose.

“It’s free, right? The demon?”

He was spinning it slowly with the tips of his fingers, smearing the ring of water it made on the table.

“Yeah, it’s gone,” he confirmed distractedly. “Don’t worry about it. It happens.”

His eyebrows were furrowed over his green eyes, crinkled with worry. I watched his uncertain face, forgetting momentarily about my screw-up.

“Cas…” he hesitated, unsure, and I spotted in his eyes the same look he’d had the last few days – hesitant, troubled. I’d thought it was about my siblings when he’d asked yesterday, but now it occurred to me that maybe his question about Michael and Luci wasn’t the one he wanted to ask; a diversion.

“Y’know what, never mind.” He let out a sigh. "C'mon, we should probably start packing."

“No, what is it?” I insisted, reaching out across the table to touch his hand. 

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, shrugging unwillingly.

“I don’t mind stupid,” I smiled softly. “If I did, how would I tolerate you all this time?” He didn’t answer, and I bumped my foot against his under the table to emphasize I was joking.

"Come on," I encouraged, squeezing his hand and suppressing a sigh. He could be as difficult as a five year old sometimes.

"You know you can tell me anything."

“Last time you were talking to your brother, I… kinda overheard.” He paused. I waited quietly, giving him time to phrase his thoughts.

He glanced up, and our stares crossed.

“Well, it’s kinda rude of me to ask…” He backed down again.

“I don’t mind rude,” I said, one corner of my mouth lifting playfully. “If I did…” I didn’t finish the sentence. He snorted, but his face sobered after a moment.

“Did you – were you… with someone else, while I was gone?”

My expression straightened, reflecting his, and my hand pulled back onto my lap instinctively. 

“I couldn’t wait for you forever,” I said mutely, my face somber.

“Of course not,” he said in a rush, but kept quiet other than that, waiting.

“Well… it was only one date,” I gave away.

“Did you kiss?” He blurted.

I pursed my lips, silent. He nodded acceptingly, not looking at my face. His beer bottle was left untouched on the table.

“It was a girl, wasn’t it?”

“April,” I answered, and he grimaced.

“Knew it,” he muttered to himself. My eyebrows furrowed with confusion, but then my mind recalled Christmas dinner three years ago, when he’d claimed that April was in love with me and I refused to believe him. The instant memory made me blurt out a snort; seemed like he was right after all. 

“Look, Dean, it really doesn’t matter…”

“It’s not- it’s not just that,” he said, wary again. “Cas, you know you don’t have to… do this, right?”

I looked at him, perplexed. “Do what?”

“Us,” he said, catching me by surprise. “I don’t necessarily mean now.  But shit happens. And I need you to know that if we break up, that don’t mean I won’t be there for you.” He cleared his throat. “As a hunter.”

My lips straightened into an unsatisfied, thin line.

“Where is all this coming from?” I asked, reaching out to touch his hand again. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” he mumbled. I stood up, circling the table to stand beside him, and tugged at his arm.

“Hey, come here,” I said, and he got up unwillingly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, wrapping my arms loosely around his waist.

“I know,” he said reluctantly, unconvinced. “But someday you will.”

“Stop it, alright?” I said, but as I leaned in to kiss him, an idea came into my mind and colored my lips with an impish smile.

He kissed me halfheartedly, but I didn’t let go. I pulled him into a deeper kiss, caging him between my arms.

“Give yourself some credit,” I murmured, my lips fluttering against his throat, and his eyes shut. “You’re brilliant, you have a pretty face, and an excellent bottom…”

I was grateful now for Sam, who made Dean get a separate room for him in today’s new motel already, merely for the fact that it meant that Dean and I would sleep in the same bed again.

“Stop it,” he mumbled and pushed my chest playfully as he felt my fingers down his butt.

“I have to convince you some way,” I said, shrugging one shoulder as I fiddled with his belt.

“And what way is better,” I dropped to my knees. “than…”

“Cas?”

I lifted my head. “Too soon?”

“No,” he said reluctantly, as if he were going to add _it’s just -_ but I didn’t linger furthermore.

“It’s never too soon for – _Jesus Christ.”_

 

I haven’t realized what woke me up at first; I rolled over, bumping into Dean’s extended arm, when my ears finally perceived the sound of a ringing phone.

I sat up slowly, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. Dean was lying next to me, his back moving slightly when he breathed.

I turned away, groping the nightstand for my phone.

“Hello?” I answered when I found it. My voice was hoarse from sleep.

“Castiel.”

I cleared my throat, awakening completely, and stumbled out of bed to search for my underwear.

“Hello, sister,” I said, my voice recovering gradually. “What is going on?” I looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was hardly seven in the morning.

“We need to talk,” she said, her tone severe. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly, glancing at sleeping Dean as I grabbed my pants and Dean’s sweater, which were the closest clothes to me on the floor. After struggling to adjust them on my body I left the room barefoot, closing the door carefully behind me.

“I’ve heard some… bad news,” Naomi said, and I froze.

 _That’s it,_ I thought. _She knows._

I took a deep breath.

“Have you?” I asked calmly. “What are they? Is Michael divorcing again?" I paused for a second. "Did Grace burn the school down?”

She ignored my banters. “It's about you.” There was a short pause before she spoke again.

“Castiel, is there a woman you love?”

“What have you heard?” I asked strictly, trying to get to the point now. Seemingly, my guess of the information she had was correct. 

“Well,” she mused reluctantly. “I’ve heard that you don’t love women at all.”

I pursed my lips, defeated. “Did Luci tell you?”

“I didn’t know he knew,” she said, bewildered, making me feel a bit better; my brother didn’t betray me.

“Alright, then, what do you want?” I asked as I strolled back and forth between our room and Sam’s. the corridor was deserted except for myself, and I could walk freely without getting in the way of anyone.

“Are you…” she paused, as if the words she were about to say made her sick. “Are you _involved_ with that man, Dean?”

I gritted my teeth, my stroll becoming absently faster.

“So what if I am?” I said, my voice weaker than I intended it to be. I've played this exact scene in my head so many times before, each of them I was strict, determined to stick up for myself, but as the time came I couldn't even speak clearly. 

“I don’t want you near him. I want you to come here and we’ll talk.”

“So you can talk me out of it?” I asked acidly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Give me some pills? This isn’t the twentieth century anymore, sister.”

“I won’t tolerate this sin inside my family, to be instructing my daughter to accept it,” she said sternly. “If you cannot accept my way, you won’t be able to see my daughter.”

I stifled the dull snort that was building up my throat; I was already halfway through accepting the fact that I’m not going to see anyone of my family anytime soon if I wanted to make sure they were safe. The strange fear of my sister made me unstable all of a sudden, almost woozy. 

Naomi took my silence as an objection.

“Alright, then. I’ll call Michael. Surely he can find a way to deal with this man, whatever he is to you.”

“Naomi, don’t be ridiculous,” I pleaded.

“I can’t have my daughter growing into this,” she repeated. “First your brother, now this…”

“For Christ’s sake, I haven’t done anything wrong, not by loving a man!” I snapped quietly. “And neither did he. You can’t control my life, sister.”

“We’ll see about that,” was all she said. I hung up the phone sullenly, somewhat worried of what she might do to achieve what she wanted, and bumped into Sam when I turned.

“Hey, Cas, what’s up? Is Dean awake?”

“No,” I answered distractedly, still immersed in my phone call. I was about to turn back into our room, but I spun around last second. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just found ourselves a job and thought we could get going.”

“Alright, I’ll wake him up,” I mumbled and turned toward our room, but Sam rested a heavy hand on my shoulder before I could move furthermore.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Alright, well, I’m ready in five,” he said and dropped his hand, still looking concerned.

I entered the room quietly. Dean was still asleep, cuddled inside the blanket.

I was in a bad mood. Usually, when I wasn’t in a good mood, I’d shut him out; but today I just wanted to crawl under a blanket and never get out again. Since I could only afford that for a couple of minutes, I figured I’d take the chance.

I shed Dean’s sweater off, sliding under the blanket and resting my head lightly on his shoulder.

“Hey, pumpkin, wake up,” I mumbled. He shifted, rolling away from me and dropping my head onto the bed, and then rolled again and wrapped his arms around my body.

“No,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Come on, Sam found us a job,” I murmured and brushed his hairs away from his face so that I could see it better. I wished he wouldn’t listen to me and just stay in bed.

“What job?” he grumbled, sitting up slowly and stretching his limbs.

“I don’t know,” I said, laying on my back. “He just said he wanted to leave.”

“’Aight,” he yawned, standing up drowsily. He walked around the bed to reach for his pants, groaning.

“God,” he grumbled as he bent over and grabbed his jeans from the floor. “My thighs ‘re so sore.”

I couldn’t help but smirk as I watched him struggle into his clothes, working through his sore limbs.

“You comin’?” he asked, but I didn’t move.

“Hmm.”

He knelt by my side and gave me a kiss, and I pulled him into another one. I didn’t want to move yet; Naomi’s words still bothered me.

_He can find a way to deal with this man, whatever he is to you._

The last thing I wanted was my whole family knowing about this. How would I be able to look them in the eyes when I knew they were ashamed of me?

“You may have been a bit too rough,” Dean said, pulling me out of my moodiness. He grinned, a warm smile that made me ask myself why did I care about anything else that moment.

“It was worth it, though,” I suggested, enjoying the proximity of his face to mine.

“Yeah, it was.” He tugged at my hand. “C’mon.”

I stood up unwillingly and we started packing, being finished in less than five minutes. In the car, Sam shared with us the information he had.

“Iowa, three men killed their wives on the same week.”

“Possessed?” Dean asked.

“They all reported knowing exactly what they’re doing.”

“What made them do it, then?”

Sam paused, digging in the pile of papers that lay on his knees. “A stripper made ‘em do it.”

“What?” Dean snorted, and my head rose with interest. 

“They all went to the same strip club, met a girl that they all described as ‘perfect’ and ‘everything they ever wanted’.”

Dean made his funny lips-pulling-down face.

“Talked to Bobby,” Sam continued. “Said it looks like a Siren.”

“A Siren?” Dean repeated. “We haven’t had those in years.”

“I know. And it worries me,” Sam answered, and we both glanced at him.

“These creatures are nasty,” he continued. “We’re both rusty, and Cas doesn’t have any experience.”

“We’ll be careful,” Dean assured him offhandedly. I started out the window, pondering.

 

It was a fifteen hour drive to Iowa, in which we only took one break to freshen up and swap drivers. I was sitting in the back seat throughout the ride, though, having way too much time to think.

We got to the motel by sunset, and by midnight, I knew what I wanted to do. Dean was just going to sleep when I grabbed my phone from the table, his eyes puzzled as he looked at me heading towards the door.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, halfway into lying down in bed.

“Just need to make a phone call. Get some rest,” I said, smiling reassuringly, and sneaked out of the room.

I made the short walk out the motel property, just to give myself the feeling that I could make my phone call uninterrupted. I dialed hastily, huffing warm clouds of breath into the cold night air.

“Hello?” She answered almost immediately.

“Naomi,” I said, my voice not sounding as bold as I wanted it to be.

There was a brief pause. “Did you change your mind?”

“I haven’t,” I answered grimly – _not yet –_ then added as a statement, “you can’t hurt any of us.”

She knew, at that moment, that she’s got to me. I called to make sure of what I’ve said, but I wouldn’t call if I’d wholeheartedly believe it. And that meant she succeeded to sow doubt in me.

“I don’t believe you’d be surprised at how easy it is to hurt a man in this country,” she said in a low voice, and I couldn’t believe I was just imagining the fake note in her tone.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I growled.

“Wouldn’t we?” she asked coolly, and my throat dried at her use of plural pronouns.

I was absently strolling away from the motel, almost one block far by that point. I was considering my response, but even if I had one, I’d never get to express it.

The tall street lamps poured dim light over the sidewalk, between the shadowed buildings and trees. But suddenly, everything was black.

My phone slipped from my fingers, making a dull clashing sound when it hit the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duNNNN


	11. Wonderful World

Dean woke up to AC\DC’s Back In Black, sitting up promptly when he recognized his ringtone.

“Hello?” he grumbled into his phone, half asleep.

“Hey,” Sam answered him over the phone. “I’m back from prison, talked to the convicted. Heading to the medical center to check the blood tests that were taken from the bodies and husbands, if you wanna join.”

“Dude,” Dean groaned, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

He grunted, sliding his feet off the bed. “Lemme grab us some breakfast while you go do your – that thing you were gonna do. Meet you back here.”

“Got it,” Sam said, and Dean hung up. He stood up, stopping to shake Cas’ arm on his way to the bathroom.

“Hey, sleepy, wake’up.”

Cas opened his eyes slowly, sitting up without further encouragement needed.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, his voice deeper from sleep.

“Morning,” Dean replied, surprised by his good mood this morning. “Sleep well?” he guessed.

“Yeah, thank you,” Cas answered, and Dean resumed his walk to the bathroom.

“So, you up for breakfast?” he asked when he got out. Cas was already out of bed, dressed and seeming ready for whatever he was awoken for.

“Sure,” he answered while folding neatly the sleeves of his dull red colored plaid. Dean didn't remember Cas owned that shirt; it made him look a bit older, and Dean couldn’t help but like it.

“What d’you want? I think I saw a diner three blocks away yesterday.” He passed by the bed to reach for his shoes, patting Cas’ shoulder fondly on his way.

“Pizza, maybe? Hamburgers?”

“For breakfast?” Dean asked, bemused.

“Why not?” Cas shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

Dean smirked, grabbing his keys from the table. “Pizza it is.”

With Cas’ new cheerfulness, breakfast was not as usually quiet. He talked a lot, Dean only listening for the most part, watching him. He noticed a few things, small things in Cas that were not there yesterday, and reluctantly, he decided he liked them.

Although…

He did notice Cas’ hair was slightly shorter than it used to be… or was it really? He didn’t have any time to cut it recently… it was probably just Dean’s imagination – or wishful thinking, since he’d always tell Cas to cut it so he could see his face better although Cas liked it disheveled. His speech was slightly different, too, but hasn’t it been that way lately? Dean couldn’t remember. These new improvements made him wonder, but they didn't really matter. At the end of the day, he was going to sleep with the same Cas he’s always been with.

 

It was the night after that Dean realized what had been bugging him all morning.

It was a morning similar to the previous one, Cas being all Mrs. Sunshine. At sunset they went to the Honey Wagon strip club, where all the killer men met their strippers, stopping for pumpkin pancakes on the way.

“They’re really sweet,” Cas noted after the first bite. “I like it.”

“Really?” Dean smiled. “Tons of sugar in there, y’know. Not really your healthy stuff.”

Cas shrugged. “Spending enough time with you, you get used to it.”

The club was fifteen minutes away, in a darker, smaller street.

“What are we looking for?” Cas asked when they entered the club.

“I’m not sure,” Dean answered, glancing at Sam.

It was big and dark, and loaded with people. Cas looked confident, though, not clutching Dean’s hand as he’d used to absently do in crowded places. Dean grabbed his hand, suddenly unsettled.

“Anyone… suspicious?” Sam suggested, and so they took a seat by the exit.

It didn’t take more than a couple of hours, in which Dean had ordered three glasses of whiskey and a beer.

“Maybe this one?” Cas said at some point, at the sight of a tall brunette leaving the room with a muscular, baby-faced man.

“I don’t think,” Dean said, his forehead creasing. After a while, Sam pointed out another couple, but Dean continued to disapprove. None of the women here seemed to fit their criteria... but what _were_ their criteria, exactly? 

“Hey, eyes on here, tiger,” he smacked Cas’ arm when he caught him looking at a stripper who went past them. Cas turned to him promptly, his eyes laughing, but Dean’s eyes tightened. Cas never stared. Dean did, flirted, too – it was one of the things they’d fight about, something Dean never understood why it bothered Cas so much – because he wouldn’t care if Cas did it from time to time, wouldn’t care at all.

It was as if Cas’ bad sleeping habits, his aversion to junk food, his sensitivity for flirtation – everything that Dean disliked in him or ever wished would be gone – ceased to exist. He was perfect.

“C’mon,” Dean said, standing up abruptly. “We’re goin’.”

He had to talk to Sam. Alone.

 

 

It was dark.

So dark I wasn’t sure my eyelids were open at first. I blinked.

A few long seconds passed before my eyes reached some degree of adaption to the darkness, pupils widening slowly, and I decided to use that time to find out more about where I was.

I haven’t willingly moved since I woke up, and for now, I kept it that way; if someone was watching me, I didn’t want them to discover I was conscious just yet.

I was lying, my cheek pressed against a cold wooden surface. My position was horribly uncomfortable – back arched, hands behind it. My right leg was trapped between the floor and my left, and it took me the slightest movement to sense both my wrists and ankles were tied.

 _This isn’t how I imagined being tied up with sore thighs,_ I grunted to myself, gritting my teeth. My jaw made a dull popping sound – probably louder inside my brain than it was in the quiet room, but I strained my ears to perceive a reaction to the noise. There was none.

Slowly, I stretched my legs. They made louder pops, but there was no one around to listen for them. By now my eyes got slightly more adapted to the dark and I could see, if only barely, the shapes surrounding me.

I was in a large room, so spacious and dark, it had to be a basement. In the far end of the room was an exit – a wooden staircase ending with a small square on the ceiling for a door. It was surrounded with thin outside light, the only source of the dim illumination in the room.

By the stairs, I could see the outlines of a desk, meaningless shapes resting on top of it. On the ground, piles of cloths lay motionless, lean lumps hiding behind them. I was afraid to imagine what were those lumps.

I could hardly set my legs apart. I tried pulling one towards my body and the other away; my shoe slipped out, my ankle twisted and then it was free. I tried freeing my wrists from the rope until the skin started to crack, and eventually I gave up. With a certain struggle, I dragged myself to the nearest wall and rose to the closest I got to sitting position, my back leaning against the wall.

I was tired for some reason, and I guessed there was no chance for Dean and Sam to find me, although they were probably already searching. Whatever was going on here, I wasn’t a hostage. Maybe a plan B – but it seemed like I was left alone in here, in what I guessed was the middle of nowhere, with no way out or food to exist on. I let my eyelids drop, making a vow that I will keep trying to free myself and find a way out once I get some of my energy back.

I couldn’t sleep. Every time I tried I felt a chill at the back of my neck, like someone was watching me, and my lids flew open anxiously. Eventually, I quit trying to rest too.

It seemed inevitable when my mind finally came back to surrounding what I was bothered with before I was abducted – Naomi. I sat in the dark for hours, flinching at the smallest sound and the slightest movement at the corner of my eye, and I found myself thinking about her phone call a lot.

She couldn’t hurt him; it was ridiculous that she’d even suggested that, silly that I felt intimidated by her proposition. Dean was a hunter, a well-trained hunter who’s spent his life fighting monsters. No one could match him in a fight, maybe except for his brother.

But after a few jittery hours, I started thinking…

They didn’t have to have an actual encounter with him to hurt him; a good sniper with a silencer could easily do the job…

I shook my head hastily; that was ridiculous. This was not some spy movie, and people couldn’t just walk around in the street and hurt others.

On the other hand – what was stopping them? Like Naomi said, you could easily enough hurt a person and get away with it...

The only indication I had for the sun setting was the disappearance of the thin light around the door; now it was pitch black, and without seeing even the little I could see before, falling asleep was even more impossible. My stomach was growling and my throat was dry, aching for water. My mouth tasted awful, still affected by the aftertaste of sleep that was left there since I woke up.

As time dragged toward sunrise I finally fell asleep, awakening again after what felt like only a couple of hours, my stomach not anymore feeling empty; it hurt, the hollowness demanding some source of energy to ease the ache. Every part of my body felt sore and pained from the too-short, uncomfortable sleep, my head being first place, longing for water. There was nothing to see but the already-familiar shapes, nothing to smell but the rotten stink of the underground; no voice but my hissing imagination, making me hear noises that weren’t there; nothing to think of but Dean and Naomi, the thoughts of them so worn out that they mixed together; Dean and Naomi; Dean and Naomi; my love and my family. There was nothing else anymore. When everything turned black again and all I was left with were my restless, fading thoughts, there was only one thought left.

Of course, of course she could hurt him. If only she could get to him, she would.

I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t. I had to get out of here. I had to get back to Dean.

I opened my eyes, and started struggling to free my hands again.

 

Dean sat on the bed quietly.

Everything was ready. He was going to wait for Sam, though, anyway. He wasn’t sure they even got it right; the knife hidden under his clothes was just a precaution.

Cas was sitting by the table, trying to find more about the Siren on their laptop. The screen was set directly in Dean’s eyesight, and he could see Cas browsing for information.

“Found anything?” Dean asked after some while of watching him. Cas turned around, his look surprised as if he didn’t notice Dean was watching him.

“Not really,” he answered conversationally, pulling his shoulders up. “Nothing we didn’t already know.”

He examined Dean’s expression for a moment more.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked then, standing up and approaching the bed.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, his voice distracted.

“C’mere,” Cas said and pulled Dean’s hand. He stood up, somewhat unwillingly, and Cas pulled him into a kiss. He turned his face away, covering the rejection up with a tight hug instead. It was much easier for him with both their faces turned away. He sighed, almost missing Cas’ words with his deep thoughts.

“I love you.”

Dean froze, his throat tightening. His mind echoed the words, the confident tone in which they were said, and he knew. Any doubt he had until this point vanished; this person, whose words were so certain, so wholehearted, this person was not Cas – not the Cas that taught him how to be shy, not the Cas he taught how to keep his feelings hidden in a mask. Dean knew exactly how those words would sound in his mouth, if he ever ought to say them – hesitant, maybe even scared, even after all this time.

He shifted carefully, making sure that this Cas won’t see the blade when he pulled it out, forgetting all about Sam not being there to help him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, shoving the bronze blade against this Cas’ throat. His eyes widened as his back hit the wall with Dean’s push, and he looked so genuinely surprised that Dean worried he got it all wrong and was putting a knife against his own boyfriend’s throat.

 _It’s playing with your mind,_ he reminded himself with a grit of his teeth.

“Shouldn’t get so emotional while ‘m holding sharp things,” he continued, forcing himself to come around and get the job done. He knew that if it’d wear a stranger’s face, he would kill it on the spot. He would be sure.

“D-Dean?” This Cas said, his eyes big and scared.

He tried to be sure.

“Where is he?” He snarled at the face he sought.

“Who?!” This Cas blurted, looking terrified.

“You think I wouldn’t notice the person I’ve spent every day with for years gone?” He snapped at the man, tightening his grip on the knife. _“Where is he?”_

This Cas looked frightened for one more moment - then he dropped the act.

“What exactly are you going to do to me with that knife?” He asked in an indifferent tone, his face a smug beam. Dean couldn’t hurt him with just this blade, and he knew it.

 _‘Bronze dagger coated with the blood of the victim’_ … This would be hard to pull off without Sam to take over after Dean got infected, but there was no way back now.

“Stab you in the face,” Dean spat back, gaining courage. He would have to be quick.

“Could you really do that to me, Dean?” this Cas asked, and Dean was caught in the innocent spark that his blue, blue eyes held. “But what if you’re wrong?”

Dean shut his eyes, trying to recall everything that made him suspect that man.

“You talk different,” he forced out. “You flirt. And you don’t argue with me.” That was, if he was being honest, the most alarming sign for Cas’ absence. “We haven’t had a fight in days.”

“Hey, Dean, look at me.” Cas’ voice was gentle now. Dean felt a hand coming to rest on his cheek, warm. He couldn’t help but open his eyes and meet Cas’.

“I’m just trying to change for you,” he said genuinely, his eyes honest. "Didn't you want all these things gone?"

Dean closed his eyes again, fighting the sudden urge to move the knife away from Cas’ throat.

“Your hair is shorter,” he said, going for the clearly visible things this time; those neither of them could deny. “You roll your sleeves up. For fuck’s sake, even your eyes are bluer.”

He knew he couldn’t pull this any longer; he wouldn’t last. He took a short breath, praying he’ll be strong enough for just the few moments he needed, and leaned in to press his lips onto this Cas’. The gesture took him by surprise, giving Dean the time to slice the dagger’s tip upon his own skin and press the bloody blade back onto this Cas’ throat, his eyes opening only briefly to aim for the right angle of his neck.

 _“Where is he?”_ He growled again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Siren said, his voice much calmer now that he didn’t have to make an effort for Dean to believe him. It had an edge to it, though, knowing Dean could kill him now if only he were strong enough.

“This is me, Dean. I want to be with you, forever,” he continued, and Dean’s teeth gritted hard against one another in concentration. “I love you.”

“You love me?” Dean repeated, taking the advantage of the words that had the opposite impact on him than the Siren thought.

“I love you,” he repeated. Dean pressed the knife harder, cutting into the creature’s skin, and it squirmed slightly under his hold. He was sweating with effort, struggling so hard to keep his mind straight that his eyes filled with moisture under his shut lids.

“Tell me,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against this Cas’ he couldn’t see. “Where.”

“I’ll take you to it,” it tried, but Dean only pressed the knife harder against its throat in response.

 “About… forty minutes up road 35,” the Siren choked out finally. “Then maybe ninety miles east. It’s an abandoned house.”

He hoped the Siren was telling the truth, because he couldn’t last any longer. He opened his eyes and thrust the knife into its chest, watching as it collapsed to the floor, still wearing Cas’ face.

He locked the room, not bothering to hide the body. If Sam finds it, he’ll understand.

He almost ran to his car.

The ride seemed to last forever, although he drove much faster than he’d usually do.

Eventually, he almost missed the house, the Impala's tires screeching as he halted by it.

It was the only house within miles, small and generic. Two floors, old and faded-colored. Dean rushed inside, pulling his gun out silently.

“Cas?”

“I’m here,” I called, my heart rate bursting faster as soon as I recognized Dean’s voice. My fingers were busy fiddling with the lock of the ceiling square, trying to unlock it with a wire I’ve found on the desk.

Dean rushed toward my voice, grasping the situation after a moment’s disorientation.

 “You okay?” he asked, kneeling beside the basement door and sticking his fingers between it and the floor to lift it as many few inches as the lock allowed. I could only see his eyes through the small crack, colored an anxious, vivid green.

“Yes, yes, I’m alright,” I said, my voice cracking, although I wasn’t sure of that. My stomach was in a constant pain that made the thought of food unbearable; my limbs were jaded, and my head felt… weird. Lighter than it should have been, but also heavier.

“I’ve almost cracked the lock.”

“Gimme, I’ll shoot it,” he said, his fingers lingering on mine a moment longer than necessary when he took the lock.

“Step back.”

I walked down the stairs and ducked my head. The sound of the two shots left ringing in my ears. Then the squared door disappeared, and the room became painfully bright. I climbed up the stairs, collapsing beside Dean when I reached the next floor.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. C’mere.”

My eyes were blinded by the light, ears still ringing. All I could feel were his arms wrapping around me, his body pressing against mine closely.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled. It took my earshot to be clear again to hear the trembling in his voice.

“Are you alright?” I asked while my eyes swept across the room. There was no immediate danger to be seen, but also no Sam.

“Where is Sam?” I asked, my arms lifting absently to rest on Dean's back in response to his tight hold of me.

“He’s back at the motel, I didn’t have time to…” he looked me over, his words fading. “Oh, God, you look horrible. When was the last time you’ve eaten?” But I hardly paid attention to him.

“I’m alright,” I repeated distractedly, still scanning the room, and whatever I could see beyond it.

“We should get away from here,” I noted. There might still be danger close by. We needed to get out of the house.

I forced my legs to straighten and push me up, and Dean followed, supporting my wobbling weight.

“Cas, I…” Dean’s voice was still weak. My restless eyes focused on his face for a brief moment, seeing a weary, sickened expression there.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, leading him out the house.

“It’s just that… for one moment…” He hesitated. I gave him another glance, and he continued. “For one moment there, after I killed the Siren… and nothing changed…” His voice broke, and the trembling was back. “I thought I’d just made a horrible mistake and stabbed you in the chest.” His grip tightened around me, and I couldn’t help the urge to rub his back and mumble reassurances.

“Shh, it’s alright.” My eyes caught the sight of the car by the endlessly long road, and continued to browse the landscape for threats. It took me a few seconds to comprehend his words.

“Siren?” I asked eventually, and everything he’d said suddenly fell into place. “Oh.”

He was too shaken to drive, in my opinion, but I sure wasn’t in the state to. We stopped at a diner on the way to the motel, and Dean insisted I eat something.

“I don’t think my stomach will take it well,” I pointed out to him, picking the seat facing the glass wall. Through it were visible part of the road and the trees beyond it, which I’ve already examined on our way in, and the cars in the parking lot.

"So I guess that means no more food for the rest of your life," he said with dry sarcasm. He shoved a glass of water across the table in front of me.

“Drink first.”

I took the glass unwillingly, gulping a few sips of it. He watched me warily, his eyes still tense. When I finished he shoved a bowl of salad toward me.

“Dean, I am fine, really,” I insisted, but he didn’t let go.

“Eat,” he ordered, his tone harsh.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the whole mealtime.

“That Siren really was horrible, wasn’t it?” I asked while we made our way to the motel room, my arm covering as much of Dean’s back as it could to protect him. He didn’t say anything at first, but eventually he spoke, his voice almost a whisper.

“It frightened me,” he explained, looking at my face as I squinted suspiciously at the doors we’ve passed by. “I couldn’t be sure. At any minute, I was afraid I was turning against you.”

“Well, your instincts were right, as usual,” I comforted him, rubbing my hand across his back reassuringly. I felt bad for his suffering, but that was hardly important anymore; because suddenly - suddenly I could see. I saw everything. I saw the danger in every step we've taken, and I had to protect him. There were so many threats, so many things that could hurt him, that could end his life in a heartbeat, and I had to - I had to keep him safe.


	12. Goodbye Stranger

It was a cold afternoon. Dean burst into the room, shaking his head to clear it from the fresh raindrops that caught in his hair. I didn’t turn to look at him when he entered the room – I’ve watched him arrive, and I continued to stare out the window now.

“Hey, guys.” The cheerful note in his tone was somewhat forced. He put the white grocery bag he was holding on the table, nodding at Sam who – since I occupied the seat by the table – was sitting on the bed with his phone.

Dean just had a quick run for the supermarket, but he brought his brother here to babysit me, a decision I was internally disgruntled by – I was hardly the one needing an eye kept on between the both of us – but maybe it was for the best; that way we would be together if anything happened.

“’Ve got pecan pie. Your favorite,” Dean said to me and took the seat beside mine.

“It’s _your_ favorite, Dean,” I answered distractedly, not looking at him.

“You said you liked it,” he argued. I recalled that day now, a long time ago, when I’d said that, secretly liking pie only because he did. Despite the endless months that had passed since, this is when, on another occasion, my cheeks would turn red at the memory. I didn’t pay it much attention now, though – just kept on staring at the rainy outside. I had to keep my mind sharp.

Dean turned around to face his brother.

“No change, eh?”

I could see Sam’s shrug from the corner of my eye, and Dean glanced worriedly at my face. I felt a sudden urge to leave the room.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, grabbing my phone and rushing out the door without further words.

I didn’t look at Dean, nor at Sam when I left the room. I didn’t want to see the bewildered looks that tried to cover up for what was really on their minds; they thought I’ve gone mad. I was only trying to do the right thing, and for now, I just needed to get away. I had to get away.

I walked across the parking lot to a quiet corner of the motel property, by the border of the trees. I was safe of the constant drizzle here, the shade of a tree’s wide branches protecting my body. I plucked my cell phone out of my pocket, exhaling steamy whiffs onto my hands while I dialed in attempt to warm them up.

“I’m coming,” I huffed into the phone when she answered. “I’ll do it, alright? Just don’t do anything… rash.”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind,” was all she said in response.

I took my time going back inside, strolling on the border of the forest for a few minutes. I was alert, ready for whatever could happen, but I was calmer after talking to Naomi; she knew I gave in, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone now. Things could fall back into order.

When I did walk back into the room, it was long after the tips of my ears started feeling numb, and I felt some difficulty moving my fingers.

The heating in the motel rooms wasn’t working well and Dean was cuddled inside the thick blanket when I got back, watching me.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, more out of need for conversation that of interest, I suspected. Sam was nowhere to be seen – probably back in his room.

“Across the lot,” I answered, my tone only slightly sarcastic. I locked the door and approached the bed, taking my jeans off while I walked. He looked at my face, not missing my eyes jumping over to the door every few moments. I slid into the bed, and he rolled over and settled his head on my chest.

“Cas-“

“Dean?” I asked, cutting him off. I didn’t particularly want to hear what he had to say, and apart from that, I had a request.

“Yeah?” He asked patiently.

“You… do you remember that time – it was years ago… when you – when you sang to me?”

His face was blank for a moment, confused, and then realization crossed it.

“I didn’t sing,” he huffed, but I caught an impish note in his voice. “I hummed.”

“Alright,” I answered deliberately. I rested a hand on the top of his head, my eyes at the door out of habit.

“Can you… Can you do that again?”

He was silent for a moment. I heard him inhale a small gust of air before he started humming, hesitant at first, but growing more comfortable with the moment.

It was a comforting sound, the tone of his voice – something that I’d mostly heard back in college, and gave me a strange feeling of home.

 _“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust...”_ he drifted into mumbling the tune. I felt my heart sinking in my chest, content. Dean’s voice, along with the thrumming rain outside the building, made me sleepy and dozy, although I knew I mustn’t fall asleep.

“Cas?” he asked after a couple of minutes, and my peaceful moment with the rhythm of his voice was cut abruptly by his sharp whisper.

“What is it?” I asked quietly. I wasn’t looking at him, but I could feel his eyes on my face.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, and I heard the struggle with the instinct to hide his feelings in his voice.

“Why?” I asked, paying half my attention to him. My ears were alert, attentive to any shape that would separate from the drumming rain outside and become alarming.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” I promised him, my arms wrapping with comfort and protection around him. “We’re safe.” Or, at least, the closest to safe we could ever get; I was making sure of that.

“’S not that,” he said, baffled by my train of thoughts. “Something’s wrong,” he continued. “And you’re not telling me what’s going on.”

My eyes landed on him, unfocused.

“Ever since I got you out of that Siren’s basement… you’re not you anymore. Did something happen down there?” He put a hand against my face now, forcing me to look at him. “Did something happen to you? Did you… did you see something?”

I took a breath, and let it go. I was helpless, without any words to say. What could I say?

“I’m alright,” I tried to reassure him, but the anguish in his eyes didn’t fade.

“Is it something else?” he asked, hesitant now, afraid. “Are you… unhappy? Do you want to leave?”

“Of course not,” I answered immediately, feeling bad for my answer at once. Will he think I’d lied to him? I didn’t want to leave.

“Don’t worry,” I mumbled. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I felt number than I should’ve been. Wasn’t I supposed to be torn apart by Dean’s concerned eyes? But I wasn’t sad – how could I be? I was doing this for him, and in a short time, he would have no reason to worry at all.

“Tomorrow morning will be better, just wait and see.”

“Tomorrow morning?” he repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

“It’ll be alright,” I promised, kissing the top of his head, and he settled it back against my chest.

He wasn’t altogether convinced, I was aware, and I knew I was going to hurt him, but what was that in the face of keeping him safe?

 

It took Dean just his usual time to fall asleep. Being used to keep an open eye on him, though, I easily kept myself awake for about half an hour after he’d started snoring, lying silently next to him and listening to the raindrops hit the roof.

At last, I untangled myself carefully from his hold and slid soundlessly out of the bed. There weren’t many things to stuff into my backpack – just a couple of shirts, my cellphone, a knife to be on the safe side and a bottle of water for the eight-hour bus ride. I left my fake credit cards and IDs in the drawer, sneaking a twenty dollar bill from Dean’s wallet for the bus. Eventually, my bag was ready by the door, my shoes laced and jacket wrapping my shoulders warmly, and there was only one thing left to do.

I approached the bed, kneeling beside Dean’s unconscious body. His arm dangled down outside the bed, fingers brushing the floor, and I grabbed his hand gently.

“You’ll understand,” I whispered a promise. His cold hand warmed slowly inside mine.

“Maybe not tomorrow, but someday.” My lips pressed softly against his fingers. I wanted to say more – how I loved every moment being with him, how I wished I could have only one more of these moments, how I loved- how I loved-

I let go of his hand, standing up. The lump that should’ve stuck up my throat and make breathing harder was absent. It wasn’t as hard as I’d expected, leaving him. It felt good, pure – like I was curing him from something. He wouldn’t have to be scared anymore; he wouldn’t have to look at me and worry or be sad. He was free.

I lifted my bag and closed the door behind me, locking it and slipping the key through the window which I shut afterwards.

I didn’t see Dean opening his eyes inside the dark room, narrowing them as he looked around with disorientation.

 _At least I’d get to see everyone again,_ I thought as I made my way through the cold night’s dark and darker alleys. With a bit of salt and a few devil’s traps under the carpets I could go back home, live with dad – he’d be happy for the company, I was sure, and for someone to cook lunch while he slept throughout the day after a sleepless night of writing… The air around my face turned white as I huffed out a sigh, the edges of my lips curving up. I’d forgotten how much I’ve missed home, missed my family.

I didn’t know what I would do without a complete college degree. I could get a part-time job, maybe find something to do with myself… I was a horrible painter, every attempt to create some kind of art in my childhood being a failure, but – dad being a good inspiration – I did go through a short phase of writing, which was shoved aside by the weight of school responsibilities. Maybe I could try that again.

I could try for a love story. I could begin with my first day in college. It could have monsters, and an impossible romance…

My head shook firmly, jerking suddenly when my ears caught the sound of the wind clashing against a big stripe of cardboard that leaned against a wall and knocking it to the ground.

Seeing how writing took over my father’s life, keeping him indoors most hours of the day and not letting him sleep at nights, I learned it was either a terrible choice of occupation, or something you’re only good at if you do out of need, rather than for fun. Either way, after spending months hunting, writing was probably not something I was capable of.

Despite my drifting thoughts, my mind was sharply aware of my surroundings, and it perceived the only sound of footsteps I’ve heard that night when they were still far away. I made a few sudden turns into darker alleys, but the footsteps fell into a set rhythm, undisappearing – following me. Then, at once, the rhythm was faster. Before I could pull the knife out of my belt, though, I realized I recognized the pace.

I turned around hastily, halting in place. In the shadowed pathway I couldn’t see his face clearly, but the carelessly worn clothes and unlaced shoes were obvious enough.

“What the hell’re you doin’, Cas?” Dean called, continuing to step forward until we were within touching distance.

“What I must,” I answered shortly with a sigh; this was just what I was trying to avoid. “Go back to the motel, Dean. I’m sorry. I need to leave.” I turned around and started walking away but he moved forward and gripped my shoulder, yanking it back to turn my body around.

“Hold on – what do you mean, _leave_? Don’t – just hold on a moment, alright? Where exactly are you _leaving_ to?”

“My sister’s,” I said. I’d tried to slip out of his hold, but his grip was firm on my shoulder. “She said she’d hurt you if I don’t. Please, just let me go.” I was anxious again – what if he wouldn’t let me go? How long could I keep up with guarding him all the time? I was so weary already, so worn out; I just wanted it to be over.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, then bounced up. “Hurt me? How could she possibly-?” he examined my face for a second. “When did you talk to her? Was it before the Siren? It was just before the Siren, I’d bet, wasn’t it?”

“It has nothing to do with it-“ I protested with a frown but he cut me off, his voice quiet.

“It fucked up your mind, didn’t it? Three days, no water or food, nothing to do in a pitch black room – I’d bet it did, anyone would go crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” I snapped, jerking my shoulder and yanking free of his grip. “Just let me go, alright? Everything will be fine if you just let me go.” I started pacing away again, but he wouldn’t give up.

“Cas, wait, let’s just talk about this!”

“Just forget it, Dean. Forget me.” My voice was too loud, too loud. I felt the tension and doubt all sipping back into my mind, frosting it with the familiar sharp but muffled feel of alert. The peaceful sense that took over my mind that afternoon was long gone again.

“Cas, I’m a hunter! Do you really think that any human could just hurt me? Or is it just you searching a way out?” his words were loud, just like mine. It hurt my brain. It hurt my brain to think. I had to get away.

“Yes,” I answered sharply to his question, turning around, my eyes narrowed with the sudden ache that pressed against every edge of my skull. “You’re only human, Dean. People get hurt. People get shot. And no, I’m not trying to get away.” I was clutching my head now, trying to clear it from the pain. Only there was no pain; it was something else. Stress? Panic? I couldn’t tell.

“Cas, just – just come back with me, okay? We can sort this out. Let me help you, ‘aight? You’re breaking my heart with this talking, man.”

“I’m alright-“

He clutched my wrist.

“Just let me go-“

My fingers curled into a fist. I couldn’t tell whether I was the one ordering them to crash against Dean’s face, or if they were doing it on their own. Given that my head was swimming in this funny state, I figured it was me. This upset me; why did I have to hurt him?

Dean let go of my wrist and dropped to his knees. It seemed that my hit was harder than I’d thought; his nose started bleeding. The side of his face was bruised. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like this at all. I had to leave before I’d do anything worse. I was hurting him. I had to go.

“Cas…” His hand grabbed my wrist again, but it was a much looser grip than before. Not restraining – pleading.

“This isn’t you. Please…” there was blood dripping onto his lips. I had to go. I had to go before I’d do anymore damage.

“I need you.” He looked up at me, his irises vivid green against the harsh color of blood that painted his face.

 I saw it in his eyes; other words. Words he’s never said – we’ve never said – not even now, not even the last night it mattered, because he couldn’t; we couldn’t.

I didn’t say anything as I pulled my hand out of his loose grip and turned around, disappearing into a curve in the street. It was what’s best, I knew it. It felt wrong, but it was the right thing to do. I was protecting him, helping him, trying to do what was right.

I tried to make my mind numb again, lock away the horrible sense of guilt that was taking over my chest like water choking lungs as I left Dean beaten and alone in the dark alley.


	13. The Light Behind Your Eyes

It was a thought that had passed his mind, I realized. One of those realization moments, those madly-in-love moments when you suddenly comprehend your own feelings.

I was sitting in the bus, the long ride to my sister’s house in Fremont only starting, when I recalled the moment.

It was Christmas, one of the nights we’d spent at home together. We were left alone after I’d beat my brothers and Dean in that silly word game, and he’d told me something… he’d asked if I believed in something, I couldn’t exactly remember. He’d said, maybe if I’d believe it, he would too. I didn’t understand what he meant back then, but bending and rolling the memory in my mind for the last forty minutes, I thought I understood.

We’d change for each other; we have before. And I thought maybe… It was so early, though, just a few weeks after we’d started dating. But maybe… maybe Dean had his realization moment back then. Maybe he was looking at my face – or at my hands, or at the tree, or at the pictures on the fireplace – and maybe he was thinking at that moment, _I’d change for you_. A simple thought that sounded horribly obvious, while it was unbelievably not so.

I thought about that for a while, times and events flashing in my mind until it ended up the same place it started, with the picture of Dean’s bloody and pained face, begging me to stay. I hated that moment. I hated myself for it.

I shut the memory out, directing my mind toward lighter subjects.

The first thing my mind came up with was a sunny morning when I was four years old. Dad had called us to breakfast from downstairs, and we’d ran, forgetting all about the previous night for a moment…

I stood at the door of the room I’d shared with Gabriel, waiting for everyone to storm down the stairs so I could walk down peacefully. Naomi was the first one to arrive the staircase, already dressed in her neat uniform, a tight ponytail tied at the top of her head. Right after her arrived Luci and Michael, wrestling their way down the stairs.

“Move, bitch!” Michael called. I was too young to understand his harsh tone wasn’t completely serious, and why was he calling our brother a sandy coast.

“Get outta the way,” Luci grunted back at him, pushing him playfully back up the stairs. In no time, they were both at the foot of the stairs. I glanced back into the room, where Gabriel was still sleeping, then padded silently down the stairs.

The kitchen was messy and loud like always, mother’s absence going unnoticed. Of course it did – she was never present at breakfast, but at the noisy morning’s cool room, it seemed that I was the only one remembering last night; how dad had gathered us all in the living room, how he’d explained mom was going through a rough time and needed some time alone. Everyone had understood except for me. I’d wanted to cry and scream because he’d said that we shouldn’t expect to see her anymore, because everyone had seemed to know what was happening except for me, but I’d just sat silently with my arms around my legs. Dad had to put me to sleep afterwards, murmuring me one of his long-forgotten stories about an angel raising a righteous man out of hell.

In my memory lane, I was standing at the kitchen’s entrance now, watching the others shove pancakes onto their plates until dad noticed me and encouraged me to come over and eat.

“Always with the bees pajamas, eh, Cassie?” Luci noted when I climbed onto the chair beside him. He was in a good mood today, I could tell, because he grabbed a pile of pancakes from the big serving plate and put it in mine, so I wouldn’t have to do it on my own.

“When will you stop wearing that stupid thing? You look like a baby,” Michael commented. Dad shushed him. I didn’t answer.

“Where’s Gabe?” dad asked when we were all sat down. No one answered.

“I tried to wake him,” I said, my voice coming up higher and smaller than I’d meant it to be. Michael snorted, and Naomi muttered an “of course” to herself as dad stood up and went up the stairs to wake him.

I couldn’t eat more than three quarters of a pancake that meal, still thinking about mom.

“Why does everyone act as usual?” I asked Naomi while she walked me to kindergarten on her way to school. “Mom left us.”

“We already knew,” Naomi said, her tone sounding almost as if she were bragging.

My stomach fell to my underwear, and I clutched the straps of my backpack harder.

“Did dad tell you before he told me?” of course he did, I reproached myself, trying not to feel disappointed. they were all grown up, of course they had grown-up talks without me. I was just a baby. Even Naomi, the youngest, was ten. She seemed like the oldest and smartest person in the world to me.

Naomi's eyebrows furrowed with bewilderment.  “Of course not,” she blurted loudly, as if the answer was obvious. “We could see. She hasn’t left her bed for days. We could see something was wrong.” She looked down at me, measuring my figure with her strict stare. “You’re too young; you wouldn’t understand.”

I ducked my head and kept walking quietly. She was right. I didn’t understand.

 

I shook the memory off, my lips falling into a grimace. Of all my childhood days, that was one I didn’t want to recall. I pursed my lips and leaned my head against the bus window, watching the cold morning’s landscape and trying to clear my mind.

I was dozing off after the long sleepless night when I felt a buzz against my knee. My eyes flew open and I opened my bag, digging into it and plucking my vibrating phone from under my clothes that were all knitted together in a mess.

I looked at the screen; it said _Dean._ I sighed and pressed the **decline** button. My head thudded an unsteady rhythm, probably because I’d hardly drunken anything since last morning. I still felt sleepy, though, and in a few minutes’ time I was snoozing again, until the phone started buzzing again. That time I didn’t go back to sleep.

Dean had called four times, and I didn’t answer any of them. When I got off the bus I turned off my phone and shoved it into my bag, not pausing to check whether he’d left a voicemail message.

It was a thirty minute walk from the bus station to Naomi’s house, and since I didn’t have any money for a cab – nor did I want to spend fifteen minutes of traffic in the car with my sister or her husband without an escape route – I embraced the short walk and started pacing out of the station.

It was the early afternoon when I knocked on Naomi’s door, and she let me in sullenly.

“Hello, Castiel.”

I followed her into the living room wordlessly.

“Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you,” I answered sternly.

“Well, then.” She examined my figure, still standing herself. “I’ve heard you quiet college.”

“I…” How did she know that? I haven’t told anyone… but before I could figure it out, she continued.

“Is it true? That you ran off with some _guy?”_ her tone hit a disgusted note with the last word, and she folded her arms firmly.

“Yes,” I admitted, abashed. Since when was I ashamed of who I was? Facing my sister made me feel like I should have been someone else. As if being straight was a better manner of life.

“I won’t-“ I started to say, but a soft sound of footsteps cut the stream of my words, and Grace appeared at the entrance of the living room.

“Hey, Gracey,” I greeted her, forcing a smile. She walked over and stood beside her mother, and I continued hesitantly. “I don’t think you should be here…”

“She can stay.” Naomi’s tone was harsh, her arm wrapping firmly around Grace’s shoulders. “She should learn to know right from wrong.”

Grace stood beside her, back straight, silent. She looked at me, not worried or confused as I expected her to be. Her face was composed.

“You were saying?” Naomi urged.

“I… will move back to father’s house,” I said, unfocused. “Until I can fund my own residence. Dean wouldn’t be a problem,” I promised.

“And… other men?” she pressed.

“Not ever,” I answered solemnly. “You have my word.” 

Was I a fool to think I won't ever fall in love again? Probably. But maybe, if I were lucky, I'd find a girl...

It wouldn’t have taken Naomi more than a moment to respond, but that moment was stolen away by a loud bang from the direction of the front door. My eyes tore from Naomi’s and I spun toward the sound, ready to face what my mind has automatically classified as danger. There wasn’t a head peeking from the doorway, though, but two palms wrapped around a gun, long fingers against the trigger.

It was ridiculous, how I could recognize him by his hands.

It was just a second later when Dean’s head showed under the doorpost, his face the funny lips-drawn-downwards expression above the pointed gun. The upper left side of his face was colored deep purple, and I had to fight the urge to duck my head shamefully to get the sight away from my eyes.

He advanced into the room, gun clearly pointed at Naomi’s face now. He stood beside me and jerked his head to one side.

“Step away from her,” he said through set teeth.

I gaped at him as if he were trying to stab me to death with a fork.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dean?” I asked, my voice as calm as I could manage it to be as I stepped between him and my sister, blocking his firing range.

“Move,” Dean ordered, trying to get a clear shooting field, but I moved with the tip of his gun.

“What is going on?” I asked again and lifted my hand, putting it on the barrel of his gun and lowering it to face the floor. He didn’t object, but his eyes were still reluctant. Wary.

He huffed, knowing me too well to try the ‘ _we don’t have time for explanations’_ speech.

“Remember the demon incident at the bank a coupla months back? Bobby called, new info about that Kevin dude. Apparently, he’s some kind of a special kid, and the demons that were after him – they were kind of a Hell-squad.”

I raised my eyebrow, ignoring the expression my sister must have made behind my back. “And?”

“And,” Dean repeated impatiently. “They had some profound bond between ‘em or whatever. Now, one of them is back in hell, one of them you killed, and one…”

“Got away,” I completed the sentence.

"And now it's..." He let me finish the sentence in my head this time, let realization strike me.

_Seeking revenge._

Dean nudged his head toward us, and I glanced at Naomi behind me.

“Castiel, what the hell is-“ she started, but I looked back at Dean, hardly paying attention to her.

“You can’t possibly mean that…” I trailed off, watching his face.

“Cas, how did she know you were with me in the first place?” He muttered more quietly. “How did she know about college?”

My eyes narrowed. “How do you know what we’ve talked about?”

“I…” he cleared his throat, eyes shooting toward the floor. “I may have… bugged your phone,” he admitted, five of his fingers rising to scratch the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Oh my god,” I huffed with disbelief.

“I was worried about you!” he blurted. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and before Naomi could nudge my arm and catch my attention Dean tore me out of her hold and raised his gun again.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” I called, very aware of Grace’s presence in the room.

“Dean, put the gun down.”

“But-“

“No,” I cut him off, feeling somewhat smug when he lowered his arm. “Not as long as my niece is here.”

What the hell was I going to do now, though? I couldn’t leave Grace with a murderous demon as her mother.

“At least lemme make sure she’s clear,” Dean said then and pulled his silver flask out of his jacket pocket.

Naomi’s eyes turned wary, her grip on Grace’s shoulders a bit too tight.

I nodded, and Dean stepped forward.

“It’s alright,” I said as Naomi recoiled, although I tensed myself. “It won’t hurt you.”

I waited edgily as Dean removed the flask’s cap, both of us ready to spring forward when the demon flinched at the touch of the holy water.

Dean glanced at me for a short moment, then jerked his hand forward and splashed the water against Naomi’s skin. Her eyes met mine as the liquid hit her skin, and my serious expression kept her mouth close.

Nothing happened.

Dean and I glanced at each other coordinately, baffled.

“If it ain’t her…” Dean murmured, letting his arms drop beside his body.

“Sister, who told you I was with Dean?” I asked.

“Grace.” She glanced down at her child and rested an arm around her shoulders like she did before. “She did right by telling me.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to block the disappointment that washed over me. There weren’t any demons this time, just a girl who’d once seen too much.

I couldn’t expect more than a child, I knew, but still… I could still see the brightness of her eyes against the dim light that long gone night when she’d promised me she wouldn’t say a thing.

“But how did you know he dropped out of college?” Dean asked.

“She told me that, too,” Naomi answered, her tone somewhat defensive, and her eyes narrowed. “This is not the issue here. Brother, you just said you were done with this man.” My forehead creased, though I didn’t pay any attention to my sister’s words.

I looked down at Grace’s composed expression, then back at her mother. Then back at her…

“I never told her that,” I whispered, my voice too weak to break. “I never told anyone that.”

My eyes locked with Grace’s, but I didn’t see her behind them.

“Get away from her,” I snarled, snatching Dean’s flask out of his hand. He let me take it, comprehending what I’ve already realized only a second late.

“She’s my daughter!” Naomi protested, holding Grace closer to her body. I ignored her, gritting my teeth as I tried to recall the exorcism, but my mind went blank.

“Dean?” I asked urgently, my voice coming out muffled through my set teeth. Before Dean could react, though, the demon left Grace’s body with a swirl of black smoke. I traced its route with my eyes, figuring it would vanish through the window or into the vent, but it whirled straight up into Naomi’s mouth. My feet moved, leaping toward Grace who coughed wide eyed beside her possessed mother, but the demon wrapped its arm across Grace’s chest and held her against Naomi's body.

“Eh, eh, eh,” the demon smiled. “Too late.”

“Let her go,” I growled, pointlessly. At the sound of her mother’s voice, Grace glanced, up, flinching as the demon looked down at her and blackened her eyes. She looked terrified, although she seemed to know what has happened to her mother. Or maybe she was terrified _because_ she knew.

“Gun,” the demon said strictly, and Dean dropped it onto the floor, kicking it sullenly in her direction. She reached down to grab it, her arm not letting go of Grace for the slightest moment. Then, to my horrified eyes, she settled a finger on the trigger and pointed the barrel at the tip of Grace’s head.

“You,” she jerked her head toward me. “You murdered my sister. Now, call me old-fashioned, but I’m here for payback.”

“Alright,” I answered coolly, lifting my arms palms up-front. It took a certain struggle to let the following words out. “Shoot me.”

The demon burst into laughter. “You think it’s gonna be that easy for you? Oh, honey, I’ve got all day. No rush.”

“What do you want, then?” I asked cautiously. My feet still felt shaky from my suicidal suggestion, and I had the feeling I wasn’t about to enjoy her plan for the rest of the day more than I enjoyed mine.

“Well, since you asked, I thought we’d play a little game.” She glanced at the curtained windows of the living room, probably making sure of what I was thinking with distress: no one could see us.

“I’m gonna kill one of them.” She jerked the gun carelessly toward Dean and then back at Grace. “You see, I’ve been here for a while now and from what I’ve seen, I get the feeling that these may be the people most important to you.”

She studied me, seeming to want an answer, so I shrugged.

“My dad would be offended, but I can’t deny I haven’t called him for a while.”

She cut me off impatiently. “I didn’t think he’d show up-“ she gestured at Dean again “-but that’s even better. Now I just can’t make up my mind! So why don’t you help me?” her eyes focused on me, and mine narrowed back at her.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my tone too cautious to manage to hide my fear.

“Tell me who to kill, of course. Simple as that. Who’s more important to you?”

I gulped, my throat dry. I could tell she was completely serious, as much as I could tell she was going to see that plan through.

“I’m not going to do that,” I said deliberately. “You can’t make me.”

I glanced at Grace, my throat clenching again when I saw the look in her eyes. She was hardly even a teenager; she had everything ahead of her to experience. I couldn’t let her die today.

“Alright, then,” the demon lifted one shoulder and dropped it idly. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

She wrapped a steady arm around Grace’s neck again and pointed the gun at Dean, watching my expression. I tried to keep my face blank as my eyes followed the gun and landed on Dean’s face. His eyes were calm, giving away no emotion.

I couldn’t let Grace die; but on the other hand…

What was I supposed to do if something happened to Dean? How would I get back to Sam and tell him that I was responsible for his brother's death? I knew I could go on without Dean, I’ve always known that, but watching him die would kill me.

The demon pointed the gun back at Grace, watching my eyes as they jumped with the movement. I felt my legs beginning to weaken, and my breath came out shallow.

I’ve realized what she was doing.

She was probably right; there was no better way to tell. I did the best I could to keep my thoughts to myself but on her face I could see she read me like an open book. For a very long time she pointed the gun back and forth, then back and forth again _– Dean – Grace – Dean – Grace –_ and when my mind weakened and gave up she saw it in my eyes. I had nothing to do, no way I could think of to stop her, and I was exhausted. The barrel turned a hundred times and each time I thought she was going to finish it. Eventually, her arm stopped moving.

“Oh, I see,” she murmured, examining my weary expression. “Game over.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said through my teeth, although there was nothing I could do to threaten her; one move, and it’d be over before my foot would land on the ground.

I felt Dean’s palm on my shoulder, trying to reassure me. His eyes were on me, but I didn’t look back at him. My stare was fixated on my terrified niece in her mother’s arms. My eyes stung, and my vision blurred.

“You kill me, you killed a hunter,” Dean pointed out, his voice rough and deadpan. “One less to worry about.”

He knew it wouldn’t work, but I was grateful for the try.

“This isn’t about you, sweetie,” the demon smiled at him. “And it isn’t about me. Look at him, squirming.” She jerked her head at me. “This show is about a killer.”

“Hold back the drama, princess-“

She slid the gun down to rest between Grace’s shoulder blades.

“Wait!” I shouted before she could shoot. She looked at me expectantly, enjoying the show.

“Don’t - don’t kill her,” I begged.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said slowly, amused.

“I’ll do anything. Anything you want.” My plea came out as a whisper. I watched Grace’s shaking legs as I talked, convincing me to keep going.

“She’s just a kid.”

“I see I picked the right one,” the demon said with a snort. “You wouldn’t fight for him like that, would you?”

“I-“ I snapped, but Dean gave my shoulder a restraining squeeze.

“You’ll get just what you want killing me, believe me,” he said, his tone harsh.

The demon looked our figures over for a moment.

“What d’you say?” she asked me at last.

“I…” my voice broke.

“Should I kill him?” She pressed. “Let the child go?”

“Tell her,” Dean urged through clenched teeth. His hand dropped from my shoulder to clutch my fingers tight.

“Cas, you gotta tell her to kill me.” But I couldn’t.

As I looked at Grace again, I noticed something dangling from her neck. I studied it, realizing it was the amulet I’d given her a couple of summers ago when I came here.

 _I’m going to keep it until I’m old,_ that was what she’d said.

I was tired. I wanted to close my eyes, but my lids wouldn’t fall.

“Do it,” I said, as clearly as I could. Dean’s fingers squeezed mine reassuringly. I didn’t take my eyes off Grace; she was the only thing in the room that didn’t scream accusingly at my betrayal in Dean.

“You got what you wanted,” Dean urged the demon, his voice fearless. “C’mon, get it done.”

The demon’s eyes shifted between Dean and me as I calculated the distance between us and tried to figure out if I could yank him out of the bullet’s way fast enough.

She measured me one more time and then took a short breath.

“Nah.”

She ducked her head down toward Grace and talked to her, her voice surprisingly gentle as she spoke.

“Close your eyes, honey, so the last thing you see won’t be the person who disappointed you.”

Grace’s eyes landed on my face and her lips pursed decisively. She didn’t say a thing, nor did her eyes close.

The demon’s next movement was quick and more precise than I could overtake. A loud bang was heard, deafening my ears, and Grace’s body collapsed. Dean and I broke into running, each one implementing his own instincts – I knelt before Grace, while Dean ran for the demon.

I slid to my knees, catching Grace’s body before it hit the floor, and cradled her in my arms. The wound at the base of her shoulder was bleeding severely. I took my jacket off and pressed the fabric against her shoulder, trying to keep the blood inside her body.

“It’s alright. You’ll be fine,” I promised her as her head dropped to rest on against my arm. “It’s just an injury.” She swallowed and nodded weakly. I could tell she was already fighting to keep her eyes open, and I tightened the cloth against her shoulder.

“Stay with me, sweetie,” I mumbled, then added more loudly, “Dean, get the ambulance.” I glanced at him over my shoulder, my eyes catching the sight of my sister pressed against the wall with Dean’s knife at her throat, and a yelp escaped my lips.

“Don’t hurt her!” but he was already blurting the Latin words that he must’ve memorized lately, and a moment later black smoke started swirling out of Naomi’s body slowly.

I searched for a phone around me, but I couldn’t find one. I was afraid to move Grace or cut the pressure on her wound, and I had no choice but to keep taking care of her and wait for Dean to handle the demon.

“Keep her awake,” Dean ordered once he finished exorcising the demon and turned to search for a phone.

“I know,” I muttered and looked down. “Keep holding on, honey. How are you feeling?”

“I can’t feel my arm,” she mumbled numbly.

“Just keep trying to move it,” I said and tightened the pressure of the jacket against the wound.

“You’ll be alright. Don’t worry about it; you’re going to be fine.” I brushed a strand of hair away of her forehead carefully.

It took Grace a certain struggle to raise her eyes until they met mine.

“She aimed well,” she said, her voice deadpan as if she were stating a fact.

Days and weeks later, I wasn’t able to recall whether I was crying at that moment, or how my voice had sounded.

“Don’t say that, Gracey, you’re going to be just fine, you’ll see.” My voice broke as she let her eyelids drop. In the background, I heard Dean finishing the phone call for the ambulance and coming to kneel behind me.

“Just a few minutes, now,” he mumbled, and I shook Grace’s healthy arm gently. She gulped, her eyes still closed.

“I’m scared.”

“Hold on, honey, just a bit more,” I mumbled almost out of habit. I didn’t know what else to do. I was useless. Helpless.

“It’s all my fault but I’ll fix it, I promise.”

Her eyes flew open and her breathing lost a bit of its heaviness – as if I’d said something that upset her.

“I’ve seen you killing that woman in that bank a hundred times through her memory,” she said, her eyes the same fierce blue mine were. “It scared me and I don’t understand it but-“ she paused for a long moment to breathe. “You saved all those people’s lives. You shouldn’t feel…” there was another silent moment while I waited for her breathing to steady again.

“...Guilty, you idiot.” With those words, her eyes closed again and her lips loosened.

I faltered.

“Grace?”

I shook her healthy side again, but she didn’t respond. My voice came out stranger this time.

“Gracey?”

I shook her harder.

Behind me, a quiet voice spoke in a mumble. “She’s gone, Cas.”

I ignored him.

“Open your eyes,” I mumbled at her. “Come on.” My vision blurred out; my mind was too fuzzy to comprehend for what reason. For a long moment, all I could feel was her body cooling in my arms. Every few moments I still tried to wake her; and then I heard the sirens.

Dean was still kneeling behind me when they came. I didn’t struggle when they tried to take her away, and her weight replaced with a warm trickle on my hands – blood or tears, I couldn’t tell.

It felt like three eternities later when a soft hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“Cas, we gotta go.”

I jerked my shoulder free of his hold, but after a few moments he stood up and knelt again in front of me. His fingers touched my eyes, which blinked instinctively, and the blurriness in them disappeared.

“Cas…”

“Leave me alone.” Inside my head, my words sounded like a deafening scream, but to his ears they didn’t seem to be more than a broken whisper. When he tried to touch me again, I recoiled. My screams when he carried me out of the room were mute to anyone but myself.

 

* * *

 _Be strong and hold my hand_  
_Time, it comes for us, you’ll understand_  
_We’ll say goodbye today_  
_And I'm sorry how it ends this way_  
_If you promise not to cry_  
_Then I’ll tell you just what I would say_  
  
_If I could be with you tonight,_  
_I would sing you to sleep_  
_Never let them take the light behind your eyes_  
_I’ll fail and lose this fight_  
_Never fade in the dark_  
_Just remember you will always burn as bright._

                                                               _\- My Chemical Romance,[The Light Behind Your Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76WJJ57YoG0)_

~~i'm sorry i had to~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was pretty unGRACEful eH


	14. Baby, I'm Yours

“Good news,” Dean announced as he placed a plastic bag with takeaway on the table and shook his head to get rid of the fresh raindrops of the spring morning that stuck to his hair. At the corner of my eye, Sam raised his head from whatever he was doing to show interest. I didn’t.

“I found us a case just outta town. _And_ my friend called me back.”

Despite my lack of interest, Dean sat down in the chair beside mine and looked at my face.

“My Doc friend. She found the hospital where your sister is staying. I texted you the address.”

I blinked.

It’s been three days. That time ago, we’d left just when the paramedics arrived; Dean didn’t want any questions asked.

I hadn’t been in the mental state to think about Naomi back then. Didn’t notice where they took her.

Dean took a carton box out of the bag and shoved it in my direction.

“Here. Eat something.” He examined my face while it remained motionless.

“C’mon, Cas,” his tone softened. “You’ve hardly eaten in the past coupla days. You can’t go on like this.”

At the corner of my eye, Sam’s head ducked back into his book wordlessly.

Dean stood up to give his brother his share of the food, then sat back down in front of me and opened his own box silently. He took a few bites of his rice, but after a short moment he seemed to have lost his appetite.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and agonized, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Cas. I know it’s all my fault for dragging you into this.” This wasn’t the first time he’s said that – nor was it the second, and my jaw clenched as he continued.

“But you’re breakin’ my-“

My voice wasn’t entirely familiar to my ears when they heard it for the first time in days, but it came out just as sharp and fierce as the one in my mind did.

“Don’t blame yourself, Dean,” I croaked, my tone dripping with the bitterness of vinegar, and stood up stiffly. “Because if you do, then eventually I will, too.”

With those words, I walked away and let the harshness of my tone fill the space left behind me.

I knew I was being unkind, but I couldn’t bring myself to care at that moment.

Checking Dean’s message, I found out the hospital wasn’t too far away. I didn’t know the city so well, though, and I walked until I found a bus heading where I needed, sitting down next to a crude old lady who stuck her nose in my direction every few minutes. I'd stare back at her, my eyes deadpan, and she'd look away. 

At that time of the evening the hospital was overflowing with visitors and workers hurrying in every direction, and the place looked crowded but also lively in a way. I approached the reception counter, asking about my sister and identifying myself, and the nice lady sent me up the elevator to fourth floor, room number four-zero-one.

I stepped out of the elevator reluctantly, trying to spot Naomi before she noticed me. I was positive she didn’t want anything to do with me now, but for the least, I had to make sure she was alright.

The room she was in was long and contained two beds other than hers. She was sitting in the bed closest to the door, reading a book with a red cover. For a short cowardly moment I stood outside and watched her. She looked fine, except for a few bruises here and there. Almost healed. They were probably going to release her in a short time.

I took a couple of steps forward, placing myself by the door. Peeking at the other beds in the row, I saw one was surrounded with blue indifferent curtains, and the other was vacant.

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat quietly to catch her attention. She looked up, her stare shifting from an idle skimming to one of contained exasperation.

“Castiel,” she greeted coldly. I took that as an invitation to take the smallest step forward and enter the room.

“Sister,” I replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she concluded shortly. She looked me over quickly, then said, “I don’t want you here.”

I nodded, faltering to take a step back. “Just wanted to check on you. I’m sorry,” I added, not knowing what to say. Sorry didn’t cover a fraction of my thoughts, nor was it the proper apology she deserved. But what could I possibly say?

“You are cursed, Castiel,” she added when I started turning around, and I looked at her.

“God punishes you for what you’ve done with that man. And I don’t want to form a part of that punishment. I don’t want to see you again.”

I gulped, turning my whole body back in her direction. “This isn’t about me, sister. This is about your daughter.”

“God took my daughter because-“

“It had nothing to do with God!” I snapped. She looked down at her book, attempting to maintain a serene expression.

“Go away from here, Castiel,” she said, not looking up. “You’ve only brought us trouble.”

I huffed, not moving.

She was right, of course, but I waited for her to look at me, say something regardless of her previous words. She didn’t, though, and I stepped out of the room.

I was by the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator, when I turned around and walked back into my sister’s room. This may be the last time I’d see her, and for the very least, I owed her my useless words.

“I’m sorry, sister,” I said for the last time and watched her face as it remained composed, her eyes reading hollow words inked into a paper.

“For everything. I wish you well.” With those words, I left.

 

* * *

 

 _This bed is uncomfortable,_ I complained silently to myself once again. At least the sheets were clean – only because Dean said he was too tired to be desecrated.

He was lying with the weight of the upper part of his body on my chest, the blanket slipping slowly down the end of the bed and away from us, and the pitch black of his sweater swallowed the soft rays of moonlight that spilled into the room through the window.

The night was silent, the only thing disturbing its serene appearance being my newly developed insomnia.

Dean snored lightly into my shoulder, then his breathing quietened significantly.

“Dean, honey?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” He groaned.

“Are you awake?”

“No.” he shifted on me and let out a long exhale. My fingers moved to ruffle his hair slowly. It was soft at the roots and rough at the ends, chafing against my fingertips like dry grass. His breathing steadied, and I ducked my head and pressed my lips onto the tip of his head.

“I love you,” I whispered. It was a sloppy, quiet murmur, although I thought he was asleep.

“Love you too,” he mumbled as though out of sleep, his eyes still closed. For a moment, it seemed like he was falling back asleep and I stared at him, stunned. Then he raised his head to look at me.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s about damn time you say something.” He yawned and his head dropped down. After a few moments, his breathing started to form a heavier rhythm again.

“Are you asleep?” I whispered hesitantly.

“You ain’t gonna let me sleep tonight, are you?” He moaned.

“No, no, you can go back to sleep,” I assured him. “Just nod and agree to what I say, I won’t bug you again.”

“’K,” he sighed, not seeming interested in the conversation.

“I want to start hunting again,” I whispered. His sleepiness took him a moment, but it wasn't long before his back straightened and he sat up, agitated.

“I’ll take that as a nod,” I said cautiously. “Now agree.”

“You think this is a game?” He grumbled at me. “You’re not ready. You could get killed.”

“It’s been weeks,” I said defensively, raising my eyebrows at him with plea. His face was a pout from my low angle, and he crossed his arms decisively.

“ _Only_ weeks,” he protested.

“Alright,” I huffed. “How long has it been since your dad died until you started hunting again?”

He looked away abashedly. “This is not the point. You need to get some rest.”

“How long?” I insisted.

“Couple of days,” he admitted unwillingly. “Next hunt we found. But I’ve done this my whole life.”

“Dean, I’m over it,” I lied gently, my hand rising to rest atop his. “As much as I can be. You can’t deny two weeks ago I was a whole other mess.”

“Just wait a few days,” he begged.

“No,” I determined and shifted to turn my back on him, sinking my head into my pillow.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he pressed, and I bit back the urge to answer him, remaining silent.

“Fine,” he grumbled and lied back down, his arm wrapping around my waist, and I let the ends of my mouth shape into a smirk.

“This is why I top.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he muttered against the nape of my neck. “I was feeling sorry for you.”

I hummed a short laughter. "I must have heard you incorrectly last night, then," I mumbled and he smacked my arm lightly. I smiled sleepily but my mind was already elsewhere, playing again and again the low tune of his _love you, too._

Hunting did do me good, eventually. It was something to focus on, a purpose, and saving lives became an obsession in me usual for a hunter. I may have never found complete happiness with the constant weight of missing my family - but what I had with Dean was almost just as good.

 

* * *

 

what was that? you're happy it ended? sick of this story? yeah, i get you. 

anyway, you may have noticed that **the chapter titles are named after either a song or a supernatural episode.** gonna specify and put links to the songs:

[I Wanna Be Yours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOJgpY-LEv8) by Arctic Monkeys would have to be the first one;

c.1: [Long, Long Way From Home ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u10G_zHFXcQ)by Foreigner 

c.2: [Bigger Boys And Stolen Sweethearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BATj0SFx_8) by Arctic Monkeys 

c.3: [Home ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjFaenf1T-Y)(i didn't accidentally type "hoe" at all....) by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros 

c.4: [Don't Look Back In Anger ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl0iZGUVGD0)by Oasis 

c.5: The End - spn s5 e4

c.6: [All Right Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siMFORx8uO8) by Free

c.7: [But It's Better If You Do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBtH2YlNiNc) by Panic! At The Disco 

c.8: [Ghost Town](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BKUjnyf8uY) by First Aid Kit 

c.9: [Dead Or Alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRvCvsRp5ho) by Bon Jovi (duh)

c.10: ..... i just.... no.... it's not a song.....

c.11: [Wonderful World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuoJHHae4iY) by Sam Cooke

c.12: [Goodbye Stranger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1K7S8TFJaYA) by Supertramp (spn s8 e17)

c.13: [The Light Behind Your Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76WJJ57YoG0) by mcr

c.14: [Baby I'm Yours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHss1bjFMJc) by Arctic Monkeys 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO PEOPLE WE SEEM TO BE REACHING THE END OF OUT JOURNEY TOGETHER
> 
> hope you enjoyed this crap of a story. please leave a comment with your thoughts. also i'm bored taking prompts so (ง ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)ง


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